A Twist in Destiny
by IAMGinny
Summary: AU: Voldemort won the first war. Harry grew up in a Rebel Camp. When Harry is captured during a routine scouting mission, they meet. And neither is expecting the outcome. NonSlash. Not your normal Harry/Voldemort-father/son story. slightly OOC Voldy/Harry. officially off hiatus!
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

A Twist in Destiny

A Harry Potter FanFiction

By IAMGinny

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Prologue: His One True Weakness<p>

Thomas Marvolo Riddle, better known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, was nervous. He was not taking part in a raid, nor was he facing Albus Dumbledore. No, Tom was facing something much more terrifying.

His wife was pregnant.

It was not widely known that Voldemort was married. Happily. Most thought he was incapable of feeling emotions such as love or affection, they would usually be right. But Esella was his one true weakness. Her fiery temper and determination to succeed had lured him to her as a schoolboy at Hogwarts.

And know she was pregnant.

Esella looked at him impatiently. "Well?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"We're having a child?" Tom asked slowly, incredulously.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, dear. I _do_ believe I _just_ said that."

Anyone else would've been_ Crucio_-ed into Seventh Hell for that remark. But this was Esella, his _pregnant_ wife.

"B-but I'm sterile!" he sputtered out in a way that was not accustomed to the Dark Lord.

Esella snorted. "Obviously not," she shrugged. "I'm pregnant, what else do you want me to say Tom? Explain how it happened?" she raised a delicate eyebrow.

"I know how_ it _happened, Esella. I happen to remember that night." His pale face reddened slightly. Esella laughed. "The Dark Lord Voldemort is capable of looking abashed, who knew."

Then she wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him lightly. "It'll be fine, Tom. Your winning this war, with a little luck our child will grow up like royalty."

Tom looked pained. "What if I don't, Sella? What if I lose to Dumbledore and there's no one to protect you anymore. Our child would grow up in Dumbledore's muggle-loving world!"

"He won't, Tom. Now stop brooding, you do it too much." She slapped him lightly on the arm. He smiled and pulled her tighter against his chest. "I know."

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Esella looked at him. "Tom, I found out an hour ago. I don't know yet."

Tom Riddle smiled.

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><p><em>Roughly nine months later . . .<em>

"My Lord?" a young man in his late twenties asked. Voldemort tried to remember his name. Was it Lucas? Lushus? "Ah, Lucius . . . you bring news?"

Lucius basked in the fact that the Dark Lord knew his name. "A-ah . . . yes, master. Your wife has given birth. . . My Lord."

"You're dismissed." He replied curtly, none of his underlying tension showing on the surface. He made his way quickly to his private rooms, keeping his face an emotionless mask until he reached the room and push open the door. His mask melted into concern.

Esella smiled tiredly as he approached. She was holding a small bundle in her arms.

He came and sat on the edge of the bed. Esella gazed between him and the baby in her arms and bursted out laughing. At Tom's confused and slightly worried look, she explained.

"He looks just like you."

Tom took the small boy into his arms.

He was pale skinned like his father, and though he was a newborn he had a full head of raven hair. His eyes were a startling emerald green with just the barest trace of his father's brown at the edges and encircling the pupils. Tom could see that as he grew older he would indeed inherit his father's handsome aristocratic features.

The boy looked up at him curiously before yawning and snuggling deeper into his arms, falling asleep.

"What should we name him?" he asked, looking up at his wife.

"I was thinking Hadrian, after my father."

Tom smiled. "We could call him Harry for short."

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><p><em>Two years later . . . <em>

"My Lord! Slytherin Manor is under siege!"

Voldemort stood abruptly and apparated just outside the gates of Slytherin Manor. He walked swiftly, killing anyone who crossed his path. He made it to the Nursery quickly, knowing both Harry and Esella would be there.

He could here screaming and pleading coming from the room. Than all was silent.

He nearly slammed into the door, yelling _Alohamora _at the door when it didn't open. It still wouldn't open.

"_Ruducto!"_ he hissed venomously.

The door blew off its hinges.

The sight that met his eyes nearly made him sob.

Esella was sprawled across the floor, after closer inspection, he saw that she was breathing, but only just. Harry was nowhere to be found.

But there was blood. Too much blood to have come from a child.

And Tom was certain he was dead. His eyes darkened and his heart squeezed painfully.

Albus Dumbledore would pay. All of the Light would pay. . .

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><p><em>One year later . . .<em>

_**You-Know-Who takes Britain, The Ministry Falls**_

_On July 31, 1989, now to be known as the day of the Dark Lord's son's date of birth and death, the old British Ministry of Magic fell, making way for the New Regime. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has taken his position as Ruler of Wizarding Britain to ensure that prosperity comes to the land and the old, corrupt ways of Wizards are not reverted. When asked by one particularly brave reporter what new laws he plans to implement he stated simply that "I will do whatever I feel is necessary to ensure what is best for Modern Wizarding Britain. Many laws instated by the Ministry were fraudulent and favoring one party. I will insure that all with Magical blood will get the respect and education they deserve."_

_We hope that our noble new ruler will lead us into a time of peace and prosperity, justice and honor, and order._

_Written by Rita Skeeter _

"This is bad Dumbledore. With all of this happening, he's bound to remember something." Said James Potter, hugging the peacefully sleeping three year old in his lap. "I don't want that monster anywhere near Harry."

"I've told the Order to watch what there say around him, and even if he does hear something, it's easy enough to fix."

"We can't just_ obliviate_ him every time he hears something about Voldemort, Dumbledore! It's wrong." Lilly said.

Dumbledore sighed. "I will find a more permanent solution, just give me more time."

James shot Dumbledore a withering glare and left, holding the small boy securely in his arms.

Lily spared him a sad look before leaving as well.

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><p><strong>So here's the Prologue for a Twist in Destiny. You'll meet Harry for real next chapter and Voldemort will be much more in character after this, promise. I'll probably update tomorrow and that goes for The Seventh Horcrux as well. If you haven't read that, then you should, I guess it's pretty good. Considering the publicity it got before I deleted it and then reposted it.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: And it All Goes to Hell

**I don't own Harry Potter**

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><p>Chapter 2: And it All Goes to Hell<p>

_Twelve years, three month later . . . _

Harry Potter sat in the tent he used to share with his parents, studying. Yes, studying. Even though they were in the middle of a war, he had to _study_. He didn't want to do homework while the adults went and scouted out Britain for possible safe houses. He didn't want to go to Defense lessons while his godfather was out defending their camp's perimeters.

He wanted to be out there alongside the adults fighting for their cause. But he was too young. Even in the Rebel Camp you weren't allowed to fight until you were of age. Until then, you were stuck in Practical Training, were you learned to defend yourself, by any means. Muggle or Magical.

From the time you could stand and walk on your own, you learned to fight like a muggle. That way if lost your wand in a fight, you weren't completely screwed. When you were eleven you started magical training in Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, and Practical Use of Magic.

Harry had been at the Rebel Camp for almost his whole life. He and his parents had fled Britain when the Monster took over. Harry had been three. His parents had been part of the Order of Phoenix—basically Dumbledore's private army—since graduating from Hogwarts, so if they hadn't fled they would have been killed.

Not that it had changed much in the end.

Harry sighed. _Stop thinking about it Harry_, he thought to himself._ It happened three years ago._ But he couldn't help it.

James and Lily Potter were dead.

"Potter, Dumbledore wants to see you." Ronald Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley clan, said as he popped his head in through the tent flap. He was a tall, gangly boy with a sprinkling of freckles across his face, blue eyes, and the trademark fiery red hair. He was also Harry's best friend.

"Why so professional Ron?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ron grinned. "Official business, Potter. We're supposed to be professional. Not everyone can be Dumbledore's Golden Boy."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the nickname. He'd been called that ever since he was small, when Dumbledore had been extended family to him. He'd used to call him Uncle Albus before his parent's death. It was Dumbledore's fault they were dead. He'd underestimated Voldemort's men and his parents died because of it. So now he was Dumbledore, Sir, or Commander . . . or Stupid Old Goat, in Harry's mind.

"Don't call me that." Harry grumbled as he stood from his spot on his bed. He followed beside Ron to the Command Tent in companionable silence. As they entered Harry noticed that two people were conversing heatedly. One was Dumbledore—old, wizened, and long bearded. The other was his godfather, Sirius. In his early thirties, with wavy dark hair, brown eyes, and a mischievous smile, he had most of the single women in the camp swooning over him in their free time.

While Dumbledore was his usual calm, controlled self, Sirius was beside himself. Harry could tell they were talking about him, Sirius had an overprotective streak a mile wide when it came to him godson. As they neared the tent Ron mouthed a "good luck" and scurried off after his brother Bill, who had just walked past.

Harry took a deep, calming breath and entered the command tent.

Dumbledore smiled warmly as Harry entered, earning a blank look and respectful nod. He sighed; Harry still hadn't forgiven him for James and Lily's death. He couldn't really blame the boy; Harry had been through hell because of him.

Harry offered a small smile in Sirius' direction before looking back to Dumbledore, his face emotionless.

"Harry, my boy, how have you been?" Dumbledore asked.

"Fine, sir. I passed all of my Practical Exams."

"I know, that's actually what I wanted to talk about." Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

Sirius was slowing growing redder. Finally he growled out, "He's not going."

Harry looked to Sirius, "Going where?"

"Well, Harry, you've passed your Practical Exams for your year. Actually, you took the Seventh Year's Exams and managed to pass them as well. But next time, don't steal the Exam just to prove you could pass them, Harry. I think you're ready for a scouting mission."

"No he isn't! He's too young!" Sirius bursted.

"Sirius, he passed the Seventh Year's Exams. There's nothing left to teach him."

"Please, Sirius! I've been studying that stuff for months so I could pass those Exams! I proved I was ready! Please? It's just a scouting mission, no one gets into trouble on those!" Harry pleaded. He needed to do this mission. He needed to prove that he could do it. That he could fight.

Sirius folded his arms across his chest. "No."

"Oh, honestly, Sirius! Stop _mothering_ me! You're going to make me sit here and wait for _two years_? I'm ready now!"

"No you're not, Harry!" Sirius snarled.

"Sirius, please. I-I need to show people that what happened didn't break me. I'm sick of people treating me like I'm made of glass and I'll shatter if they say the wrong thing." Harry pleaded quietly.

Sirius looked torn. "Fine . . ."

"Thank you, Sirius!" Harry yelled as he threw himself at his godfather and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"But I'm coming as part of the scouting team." Sirius warned.

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><p>"Harry! Keep up, will you!" Sirius whispered furiously.<p>

"I_ am_, Sirius. Calm down, nothing's going to happen." Harry whispered back, rolling his eyes.

"It's fine, Sirius. I'll make sure he's not last out." Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep baritone. Moody glared back at them. "Will you three _shut up_! The boy's fifteen, not five! He can take care of himself."

Harry moved up to walk with Moody. "Thanks Mad-Eye," he said quietly. Moody grunted in reply.

They crept through the abandoned house, sending out detection charms every few feet to find bugs. When they found nothing, Moody decided to split up.

"Meet back here in ten minutes, if you find anything, call for back-up. Potter, you're to stay here, understand?" Moody growled.

"But—"

"No buts Potter, stay here."

Harry sighed in annoyance. "Yes, sir."

"Good, that. Move out, the rest of you."

The rest filed out, save for Sirius.

"Sirius, I'll be fine. Go do your job." Harry sighed.

"But what if—"

"I'll be fine." Harry said firmly, starting at Sirius pointedly.

Sirius nodded and turned to ascend the staircase. "Just be careful." He threw over his shoulder.

Harry nodded and backed up into a dark corner of the room. He waited, ears pricked and eyes alert.

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><p>It happened quickly. One moment everything was silent except for the creak of an old floorboard and the sound of shifting bodies upstairs, then in sequence of loud "pops" Voldemort's men had the house surrounded. There was the sound of scuffling and shouts upstairs before silence rained.<p>

_Oh, god. This is how it happened last time._ Harry thought. _I have to get out of the house. I have to get help!_

As quietly as he could, he moved towards the door, wand raised defensively. None of the Voldemort's men had apparated into the room he'd been waiting in. Just as he was beginning to think he'd actually make it out and portkey back to Camp, he was thrown off his feet and into a wall.

More dazed than actually hurt Harry rolled over just as a red light soared over his head. His training kicked in and Harry was on his feet seconds later throwing a stunner at his attacker. The man blocked it with the pretego charm and tried to disarm him.

"_Pretego!" _ Harry yelled and watched as a shimmery blue shield protected him.

"_Sectumsepra_!" the unfamiliar curse caught Harry off guard and his shield faltered. The Curse broke through his weakened shield and struck his wand hand; Harry cried out and dropped his wand.

The last thing Harry heard before he was hit with a stunner was Sirius.

"Harry!"

And then everything went black.

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><p>As the Aurors rounded up the last of the Rebels, all of which were stunned, they prepared to lower the wards around the old house they'd used as a trap. Richard Stienley was the team medic. He loved his job, loved that he could serve his country.<p>

"Oi, Stienley! I need your help over here." Richard walked over to the corner where his fellow Auror was kneeling next to a small figure sprawled on the floor. As he neared the pair he realized the Rebel was just a boy, no more than fifteen.

"Bloody hell, he's just a kid!"

"I know, I wouldn't have cursed him if I'd known he was so young. It's terrible how young the Rebels are recruiting them." The other man exclaimed, shaking his head.

Stienley kneeled next to the boy, about to ask where he'd sent the curse. Then he saw his hand.

"Shit. You sure did do a number on his hand." He muttered.

"You'll be able to heal him, right?"

"Yeah, but he'll need a blood replenishing potion."

"Well get to it then! We need to get these criminals to base. The Dark Lord wanted them soon as possible." The head Auror said grabbing one of the Rebels by the arm and disappearing with a "pop".

"Well let's get him fixed up." Stienley said. And_ Episky_ and a potion later, the boy was good as new, if a bit pale.

"I've got him." Stienley said, taking the boy's arm gently. The other Auror nodded and Richard apparated away with the boy.

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><p>The Dark Lord watched as five figures were dragged into the holding cell where he was waiting. He rose an eyebrow. Five Rebels? He'd only been expecting four. The notorious Sirius Black, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. All ex-Aurors, all Order of the Phoenix members, all wanted for Treason. The fifth was a teenage boy.<p>

Voldemort's eyebrows furrowed. Dumbledore didn't send children out of the safety of the mysterious Rebel Camp. Until now.

The boy was probably around fifteen years old, his messy raven hair falling into his face. He was of naturally thin stature, but fit and average height. His face had an aristocratic air to it, with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and an overall handsome face. But his messy hair and untrimmed appearance ruined it.

He was carbon copy of Tom Riddle at fifteen.

Voldemort nearly lost all sense of self at that point, wanting desperately to check his eye color. But he didn't, because this wasn't Harry. His Harry was dead, killed by this boy's people. It wasn't Harry. It couldn't be.

_But it could_, the voice in his head whispered. _You never found a body._

_But there was too much blood,_ he thought.

_Which could've been a trick._ The voice prodded.

Damning his subconscious, he walked over to the boy. The boy really did look like him. If there was the slightest chance that Harry wasn't dead, that this was Harry . . .

He had to know.

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><p>"<em>Eneverate!"<em> A voice said and Harry bolted up only to realize someone was holding him down. He squirmed in their grip, but became still when a hand gently but firmly took his chin and raised his head.

Startled green eyes met disbelieving crimson.

Voldemort, without thinking, attacked the boy's mind, trying frantically to find confirmation that this was indeed his son. The boy fought him, bring up walls around his mind, but Voldemort's desperation won out and he seized control, forcing the boy into submission as he searched.

Than he hit a wall.

He tried to rip it down, not understanding how the boy had thrown up another wall. He heard a distant cry of pain and he withdrew quickly from the boy's mind, realizing he was hurting him.

The boy that he was almost positive was his son was chalk white, his hair stuck to his forehead with cold sweat, and shaking violently. His green eyes looked frantically around the room for ways to escape, but he couldn't support himself, the Aurors were holding him up. His eyes settled on the Dark Lord's, silently pleading with him. Voldemort looked away.

"Severus, I need an identification potion." He said over his shoulder.

Severus wordlessly handed Voldemort a vial of _Ostendo Sum Identity._ He unstoppered it and removed a dagger from his robes. The boy's eyes widened and he started struggling again. Voldemort took his hand and pushed the point of the dagger into the boy's index finger, eliciting a flinch from him.

He held Harry's finger to the vial, letting several fat drops of blood drip into the potion before healing the boy's hand and releasing it.

The potion turned acid green, the blood forming words on the side of the vial.

The boy began jerking in the Auror's grips, as if he was having a seizer. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp. Voldemort looked at the boy concernedly before looking back at the vial. He read:

_Hadrian Thomas Salazar Riddle_

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><p><strong>Ostendo Sum Identity: (literally means) reveal identity—in Latin<strong>

**So there's chapter one. That took me FOREVER to write! Sorry, I didn't have time to update The Seventh Horcrux; I'll try again tomorrow :) **

**Anyway, review. Tell me what you think.**

**Until next time**

**-Ginny**


	3. Chapter 3: The Dilemma of Being Human

**Amanda2308: thanks so much for reviewing**

**The Parallel Universe: Yeah, I was planning on delving deeper into Harry's "home" life throughout the story. I won't come right up front and say everything at once, but once this story is done, you'll know about Harry's life**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

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><p>Chapter 2: The Dilemma of Being Human<p>

Voldemort sat in the infirmary, next to Harry's bed, wondering why everything had to happen to him. Sitting there in the silence, focusing intently on the boy—his boy—was reminding him of the last time he'd lost a loved one.

Esella hadn't survived the attack that had taken Harry from them. The Medi-wizards said she hadn't had the will to live. She'd been hit with an unknown spell and passed away during the night. And so the last remnants of Tom Riddle were gone. Because the only thing that kept him grounded, kept his human, was love.

And the only two people he'd loved had been taken away.

Until now.

But Harry still wasn't his. Voldemort wasn't stupid, he knew Harry would fight him tooth and nail before he agreed to stay there, agreed to be his son again. Because he'd been raised by _them. _And they had taught him that he was a cruel, heartless monster, unable to feel love. He wouldn't except that Voldemort had no ulterior motives.

The Light was just as cruel as the Dark.

They'd kidnapped his son, murdered his wife, raised his son to fight against him, and then sent Harry here so that Voldemort could see how much his own son hated him.

Voldemort wondered how Harry had grown up. He'd have been under Dumbledore's thumb, he was sure of that. Dumbledore would've kept him on a leash, making sure he didn't get any rebellious thoughts.

He'd probably been put through training, like all of the other children. He must have done well, to have been part of the scouting mission. He probably had friends there. Maybe people he thought were his parents? He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to say that he was Harry's grandfather.

Harry stirred in the bed.

Voldemort looked down at the unconscious boy as he turned over onto his side. As gently as possible, he pushed the boy's hair out of his face, his cool fingers brushing against fevered skin. Harry's fever had been slowly subsiding but hadn't broken yet.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort looked up to see Lucius Malfoy, who had proved himself to be very valuable over the early years of the New Regime and was now a member of Voldemort's inner circle.

"Yes, Lucius?"

"My Lord, I'm sorry, but you're needed in a meeting."

"Alright, I'm coming." Voldemort stood and glanced down at his son. He cast a quick sticking charm on the bed so that if Harry woke up he wouldn't be able to leave the infirmary.

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><p>The first thing Harry felt when he woke up was the ear-splitting headache. He groaned and tried to sit up, then realized he couldn't. Panicking, his eyes flew open. He took in the crisp white sheets he was lying under, high ceiling, and neat rows of steel-framed hospital beds. <em>I'm in an Infirmary<em>, he deduced.

This definitely wasn't the infirmary at home, which was little more than a tent with a few cots. And Poppy Pomfrey. The Medi-witch was the only thing that made the infirmary an infirmary. Harry had spent a fair amount of time in the infirmary. Poppy said he was a trouble magnet.

After what had happened last night, he agreed with her.

Again he tried to sit up and again he found he couldn't. _Sticking charm. _Obviously, someone didn't want him going anywhere. He felt the panic rising again and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. _Panicking leads to mistakes, mistakes mean you die. _His father had always told him that. His mother would fight with James about Harry being too young to hear those kinds of things, to which his dad would reply "You're never too young to be cautious."

Taking in all of the information he could, he examined himself and the room. From what he could see, he was wearing hospital issued green and white stripped pajamas. He couldn't find any lasting damage on his person, just a few bruises from the tight grips of the Aurors. His wand and pen knife had been confiscated when he was captured. He was alone. None of the other Rebels were there. There were windows on the other side of the room, letting in the weak English sunlight. The sky was starting to cloud over; it looked to be about midday.

His thoughts were disturbed by a cheery looking women coming out of a door at the opposite end of the infirmary. She smiled when she say that he was awake and pranced over. "Hello, Harry," she chirped. "I'm Flora, the active medi-witch of this base. How are you feeling dear?"

"Er . . . alright, I guess. Whe-where am I, Miss?"

"Don't worry dear, you're safe. The Rebels were arrested, and you're now in the British Court's custody! Are you sure you feel alright? No headaches? No chills? Your fever only broke a few hours ago."

"WHAT!" Harry exclaimed. This couldn't be happening. He was in the Court's custody? The others had been arrested . . .

"Is Sirius ok?"

"Who?"

"My godfather! Tall, black hair, brown eyes?"

"Oh, you mean Black?" she asked in disgust. "He's fine. Wouldn't stop asking about you when I gave him a checkup, though. Of course I didn't tell him anything, as if I would ever talk willingly to that blood traitor."

"Don't talk about him like that!" Harry hissed.

The medi-witch looked at him in sympathy. "You don't have to be afraid anymore, sweetie. They can't hurt you here."

"They wouldn't hurt me, I'm one of them!" Harry snapped.

"Poor child, they really did do a number on you didn't they?" she said sadly.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" Harry asked in annoyance.

She looked at him sternly. "I'll not have bad language in my infirmary, young man."

Harry growled in annoyance.

"Excuse me, Flora. Might I have a quick word with young Harry here?" a silky voice from the doorway to the infirmary. They both looked up, startled. The woman nodded hurriedly, bowing her head. "Of course, My Lord!" she scurried back to her office and nearly slammed the door.

Harry was still staring—horrified—at the man in the doorway.

He knew who he was, of course. He was the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort. The Monster. His enemy. The man who had assaulted his mind last night for no apparent reason. The person—other than Dumbledore—who was responsible for his parent's death.

And Harry was terrified.

How could he not be? This man had almost single-handedly taken Britain. He had killed millions of people to achieve it. Men, women, and children alike. His power was like an aura around him, pulsing and rolling, silent but deadly to his enemies. He could feel the man's magic reaching out to his own curiously, testing him.

Harry's magic pulled away instinctively, sensing the almost overwhelming darkness there.

With a start, Harry came back to himself. He realized he'd been staring at the Dark Lord and Voldemort had been staring right back at him. Harry felt his cheeks heat up and the Dark Lord chuckled. It wasn't a humorous sound. Harry felt himself shiver.

So much for not showing fear.

"It's alright Harry; I have that effect on many people."

Harry's jaw tightened. His Parent's Gryffindor brashness taking hold. "Where are my friends? How did you know we'd be at that house? How do you know my name?"

The Dark Lord shrugged, not the least bit fazed. Then again Harry probably wasn't very intimidating. He was stuck lying down, wearing pajamas. "Your friends have already been apparated to the Court's main offices in London, they are awaiting trial. We set that house as a trap. And as for your name, that can be explained later."

"Why wasn't I sent with them?"

"Because you weren't arrested."

Harry snorted. "That's not the impression I got from being attacked, cursed, brought here, mentally assaulted, and stuck to a hospital bed at all."

"Are you quite done?" the Dark Lord asked amusedly.

Harry glared at him.

"I'll take that as a yes. You were taken with the intent of arrest, but the charges were dropped."

"By who?" Harry asked confusedly.

"By me, of course." The Dark Lord said, raising an eyebrow as if the thought that anyone else could've dropped the charges was absurd.

Harry stared at him.

"But . . . why would you do that?"

"You doubt my act of kindness?"

"We're enemies." Harry stated simply, no conviction lacking in his words.

A look of sadness came over Voldemort's face, disappearing almost instantly, making Harry wonder if he'd imagined it. "We're not enemies, Harry. You're just a child. You believe what adults tell you and all of the adults you grew up around are delusional."

"That's not true! I can think for myself!" Harry shouted.

"I hope that's true, Harry."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry grounded out.

"Harry—"

"M-my Lord?"

Voldemort looked up at the young medi-witch standing timidly in her office doorway.

"Yes?" he asked patiently.

"I—it's just that . . . you're aggravating my patient, My Lord. He's still not well yet, and I haven't gotten to give him another checkup since he woke up."

Voldemort looked down at Harry—he was standing at the head of his bed now—and saw that the medi-witch was right. Harry was much paler than he'd been when he'd walked in; his cheeks were flushed with fever again. His son was shivering under the sheets, but sweat stuck his hair to his forehead.

Without thinking, the Dark Lord reached out his hand to check the boy's temperature, only realizing what he was doing when Harry flinched away from him violently.

Again he was reminded that this wasn't the giggling, trusting two year old who's first word had been 'daddy'. This was a boy who had been raised thinking he was a sadistic, cruel monster that he had to help fight against. Said boy was now glaring hatefully at him and Harry's words from only minutes ago came to the forefront of his mind.

"_We're enemies."_

And to Harry, they were. So Voldemort knew he'd have to stop doing stupid, mindless things like he'd just done. He couldn't treat Harry like his son yet, because that's not how Harry would see it. He'd see it as his enemy trying to manipulate him and make him uncomfortable.

Could he even tell Harry about their relation without the boy thinking he was a sick bastard with hidden motives? Probably not. He'd have to show Harry that he could trust him. Show him all of the things he'd missed out on growing up in the Rebel Camp. When the time was right, he'd tell Harry.

Because even though he was a dictator and a murderer, even though he'd tortured people and was indeed a terrible human being, he was just that. A human being.

And he didn't want to hurt his son.

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><p><strong>So there's chapter 3, it's supposed to be chapter 2 . . . yup <strong>

**I wanted to explain some things to you guys. first of all, Voldemort is OOC. i really wanted to play with his character and make him more complex. in the books he's kind of one demensional, all he ever seems to do is chace Harry, torture muggles, or plan world domination. i wanted to make him more believable and realistic. **

**harry might be kind of OOC at some parts, but i'm trying to keep to the books with him. this is AU though, so some aspects of his personality are different.**

**Anyway,review!**

**i'll update soon**


	4. Chapter 4: Compromise

**Kamorie: actually, Harry had his parents until he was twelve. The will be explanations on that later in the story.**

**Anonymous: Voldemort is still evil in this, but he's more human. Yes he kills and tortures, but he won't be like he was in the books. He doesn't randomly go out and decide to murder some helpless muggles or spend the whole of his Death Eater meetings torturing his followers. I honestly never understood why the Death Eaters followed him in the books, all they ever seemed to do was get tortured and go on raids. Voldemort will be more manipulative and charismatic in this fic, like how he was as Tom Riddle, before he went completely mad. Um, it's not really a redemption fic per say, Voldemort won't be going good, more like how he was as Tom Riddle in the Prologue (first chapter), evil but capable of love.**

**Yes, people, I own Harry Potter. I'm a British forty-something year old, using the guise of an American teenage girl to write fanfics about my own book series. Honestly.**

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><p>Chapter Three: Compromise<p>

Harry sat uncomfortable and still as the medi-witch waved her wand over his body, running through what he guessed were diagnostic spells. He'd never been much good with healing. He was painfully aware that Voldemort was still in the room. Harry didn't understand what had just happened.

Lord Voldemort had just tried to take his temperature.

Dark Lords _don't_ take their enemies temperatures. They just don't. The man was mad. That must be it; he was in the custody of a madman. Because Dark Lords don't show affection for their hostages. And that's what he was, wasn't it? A hostage?

But what had confused him was the look of concern on the monster's face when he reached out to take his temperature. He'd never imagined the man could look so . . ._ human_. When Dumbledore and the members of the old Order of the Phoenix had described him, he'd never been able to imagine Voldemort as anything but an evil murderer. He'd never have been able to imagine him talking to anyone civilly. In his mind Voldemort had been a monster with fangs and red eyes, more like a fairy tale monster than a human being.

But Voldemort looked completely human. He had dark hair and high, aristocratic cheekbones. His eyes were brown. He was lean but muscular and though he had to be in his fifties—at least—he didn't look a day over thirty five. His magic was the most powerful Harry had ever felt—save for perhaps Dumbledore's. Harry was surprised how similar they were, and how different.

Dumbledore's magic was mostly light, with only a few dark spots. Voldemort's was malevolent by nature, but little dots of light could be seen, almost like the sky on a clear night.

They were polar opposites of each other and yet they were frighteningly alike.

It struck Harry how much Voldemort looked like James, and by extension him. Voldemort's hair was short and neat, where James had been long and untidy, but it was the same inky black color. They had the same aristocratic pure-blooded features and lean but muscular builds. They could've been twins, the only obvious difference being James messy hair and glasses.

Harry looked like a mix of them. His hair was long enough to cover his ears, but not nearly a messy as James' had been. He didn't wear glasses. He had Lily's emerald green eyes, though they were a few shades darker—more like forest green—and had traces of brown on the edges of his irises. With a shiver Harry considered that the Potter line very well have relations to the Slytherin line. He could be distantly related to Voldemort. Harry shivered again.

The medi-witch was done with her examination. She scurried back into her office as soon as her wand was safely back in her pocket, leaving Harry alone with Voldemort again. _Oh, joy._

"How are you feeling?" Voldemort asked warily.

Harry stared back at him blankly.

"I assume you wish to know more about your current . . . situation."

"I know everything I need to, I'm a hostage. The Rebels won't care, I'm just one kid. I wasn't even out of training yet." Harry said bluntly. That was the policy. You get captured; you're on your own. They didn't have enough people to storm Britain to rescue one scouting team. It was harsh, but it was logical.

Voldemort frowned. "You're not a hostage."

"And what would you call being held by the British Court against your will but apparently "not under arrest"?" Harry asked emotionlessly. It was part of his training from muggle fighting, never show emotion when then the enemy has the upper hand.

"Rehab."

Harry's mask slipped. "Excuse me?"

"I have a compromise for you, Harry." Voldemort said.

"What?" Harry asked warily, having no idea what he was going to be offered.

"You'll stay here in Britain, as my ward."

Harry stared open-mouthed at the man in front of him. He'd been expecting something more along the lines of "tell me everything you know about the Rebels and their plans and maybe I won't kill you," not an offer to become the leader of Britain's ward.

"You'll attend Hogwarts, accompany me to a few public social events, and spend the Christmas, Easter, and summer holidays with me."

"_Why?" _Harry asked. Why would Voldemort want to become his _legal guardian_?

"The public would love it. Their Ruler taking in a troubled child, kept prisoner by the Rebels for years, and helping him settle back into Britain and ensuring his future." Voldemort smirked.

"I wasn't kept prisoner by the Rebels, I _am_ a Rebel! The only one holding me prisoner is _you_!" Harry growled agitatedly. _I'm bloody brilliant at being emotionless, aren't I? _

Voldemort looked amused. "That attitude would be passed off as brainwashing; some might even think they tortured you."

"_They didn't torture me!" _Harry hissed.

Voldemort looked startled for a moment before smiling.

"You could have what I believe muggles call Stockholm Syndrome. You spent enough time held captive by the Rebels that you started thinking of them as friends, it happened a lot during the war."

Harry glared at Voldemort furiously. "And why would I agree to becoming your publicity stunt?"

"You're rather fond of your godfather aren't you, Harry?"

Harry eyed Voldemort confusedly. "Yes . . ."

"And you would do anything to help him, wouldn't you?" Voldemort asked.

Harry's looked at Voldemort in horror as the truth dawned on him. "But—"

"Come now, Harry. You strike me as a smart boy; surely you guessed your godfather's fate. He's a known criminal and traitor to Britain. There can be only one outcome of his trial. Unless—"

"Unless you intervene . . ." Harry whispered.

"Yes." Voldemort.

"So if—if I become your w-ward . . . you'll . . ." Harry stuttered.

"If you accept my offer, I'll let Sirius and your other friends go."

"Bu-but . . . I can't . . ." Harry looked distressed.

Voldemort wished there had been another way, but he needed Harry's cooperation. He needed to know Harry wouldn't try to run off or misbehave. It still made him feel terrible, knowing he was the reason Harry looked so distressed. Only Harry could make him feel like that. That was another reason he needed to keep Harry on a short leash. The boy was his weakness. If Harry was ever used against him, it would be his downfall.

"What if I say no?"

That question surprised Voldemort. Harry couldn't leave Black to die.

"Then they'll suffer the consequences for their actions. And you'll still help me, Harry. There are ways I can make you. I know you were taught to throw of the Imperious Curse, but can you throw of the effects of an obedience potion, or a loyalty potion? I have one of the most gifted Potions Masters alive. Can you best his potions?"

He wouldn't use an obedience potion on Harry, or a loyalty potion. But he needed Harry to think he would.

"I-I'll do it." Harry said quietly after a moment.

"Good," Voldemort smiled. "Be ready for the press conference by five, I'll collect you then. Call for Tibby, my house elf. He'll escort you to the locker rooms so you can wash up."

"You knew I'd say yes." Harry mumbled.

"Off course, any decent human being would."

"Guess that leaves you out then." Harry muttered under his breath.

Voldemort chuckled. "You'd be surprised, I think."

And with that the Dark Lord turned to leave.

"Wait!"

Voldemort turned and looked at him curiously.

"I want to Sirius before you let him go."

"That can be arranged."

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><p>Harry stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, wondering why the hell everything happened to him.<p>

The boy staring back at him looked nothing like Harry Potter. He was dressed in in simple black trousers and a green button down shirt, a black tie, and a simple but expensive black robe taking the place of a blazer, had he been wearing a muggle suit. His hair was clean and neat, falling freely over his forehead and the tips of his ears.

His resemblance to Voldemort at that moment unnerved him.

Was this going to be his life from now on? Showered in expensive clothes and material things, forced to obey Voldemort and play the part of the boy kept prisoner by the Rebels and eternally grateful to his "savior" for "rescuing" him and getting him on his feet again. Miserable and alone.

_But at least I helped Sirius and the others._

Harry suddenly felt the urge to break down and cry. He hastily pushed the feeling away and ignored the burning in his eyes. He hadn't cried since his parents died, he wouldn't now.

Just as he got control of himself there was a hesitant knock on the door. He heard a muffled voice through the door.

"Is Master Harry Potter sir alright, sir?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Tibby." Harry yelled back, trying not to rub his eyes.

"Master wishes Tibby to take Harry Potter to him, sir!"

Harry knew who "Master" was and sighed. It was time.

"Let the Games begin, as they say." Harry muttered as he pushed the locker room door open.

_Let the Games begin._

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><p><strong>So there's chapter three. I might update again today, because I'm bored and I'm psyched for next chapter. Feel free to ask questions, I'll do my best to answer them. Please review and thanks to everyone who has :) <strong>

**Preview of next chapter, 'cause I can**

**-Sirius/Harry conversation**

**-press conference**

**-Harry becomes the Heir of Slytherin**

**-Voldy and Harry go shopping (I swear it's not as gay as it sounds) **


	5. Chapter 5: Remember Who You Are

**AlwaysGryffindor13: thanks for the review and positive feedback! And I might update Seventh Horcrux today, depending on how long it takes me to type this**

**Amanda2308: I'm glad you like it and thanks, your review always cheer me up!**

**Anonymous: thanks:) yeah, I wanted to have Harry warm up to Voldy a bit before the truth comes out, because that will make Harry's choice in the end harder, and I'm a tad sadistic.**

**The Parallel Universe: thanks for pointing out the typo, it's supposed to say "I want to see Sirius before you let him go." And as far as for shopping, you'll see . . . **

**Thanks also to Jenaminya, Cian Keita, TheEscapeFromReality, and Duchess E. V. Watson for your awesome reviews!**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

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><p>Chapter Four: Remember Who You Are<p>

Harry walked after Tibby, taking careful inventory of his surroundings. He didn't know why he did it; he'd pretty much sold his soul to save Sirius and the others. There would be no escape for him. But it was a habit, and it couldn't hurt to know the building's layout.

He was led down a twisting labyrinth of corridors to a set of imposing ebony doors. Tibby gestured for him to knock. Harry really wanted to turn and flee but forced himself to rap his knuckles sharply against the door.

He heard a curt, "Come in," and entered warily.

Voldemort sat behind a large cherry wood desk. His head was bent over a pile of paper in front of him; he didn't look up as Harry entered. He had an elegant eagle feather quill in his right hand and periodically he scratched something onto the parchment. He was dressed in simple black trousers and a button down shirt with a tie and robe like Harry, not quite dress robes but nicer than every day wizard's robes.

Harry stood awkwardly by the door for a moment, not sure if he should speak.

"You can sit." The offer was more of a demand. Voldemort didn't look up as he addressed him. Harry looked around the office and was disappointed to see that the only other chair in the room was directly in front of Voldemort's desk.

Feeling like a small child caught doing something wrong and being sent to the headmaster's office, Harry sat down. They sat that way for several minutes, Harry perched on the edge of his chair anxiously and Voldemort completely at ease as he finished reading his reports. Harry found his eyes wandering around the room for lack of anything better to do.

The floor was dark hardwood with rich black rugs, tapestries of English Countryside covered the walls along with maps of Britain and the surrounding countries. The ceiling was high and vaulted, made of emerald glass that cast a warm green glow over the room. A cheery fire blazed in the fireplace and Harry was surprised to see the small moving photograph of a pretty young woman around maybe twenty with a small boy in her arms sitting on the mantel.

The woman was somehow familiar, with shoulder-length brown hair and dark, forest green eyes.

Harry continued to search the room with his eyes; taking in the octagonal shape of the room, the large bookcases filled with old leather-bound books, and labeled filing cabinets.

It struck Harry how much the Dark Lord's office resembled what he imagined a Headmaster's office would look like, save for the maps of Britain covered in small red and green flags. There was nothing sinister about the room, no skulls or medieval torture devices hanging on the walls. There was, however, a sword hanging on the wall directly behind Voldemort.

Harry's eyes settled back onto the picture of the woman. Why did she look so familiar to him? Who was she? Why did Voldemort have a picture of her in his office? Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere.

"That's Esella Riddle nee Montréal, my wife."

Harry started at the voice as he came back to himself. He looked warily at Voldemort. The Dark Lord's face was carefully blank as he scrutinized Harry.

"I—I didn't know you were mar-ried." Harry stuttered out, taken by surprise.

"I'm not, anymore. She died thirteen years ago, the night my son was killed." For a moment emotion flashed across Voldemort's face again, pain and sorrow, and then he was blank once more.

Harry had heard about that. The official story was that the Rebels had kidnapped and murdered his two year old son as revenge for all of the families he's ruined during the war. It was a load of rubbish. The Light doesn't do things that. He'd grown up being told that the story was an act to gain sympathy from British citizens who were neutral in the war. It'd worked. Over half of the neutral families had supported Voldemort after that.

But seeing the pain and sorrow on the Dark Lord's face, Harry had to wonder. . .

_Oh, get a grip Harry. He's the bloody Dark Lord, he can act. He can manipulate._

Harry's eyes hardened.

"The Rebels didn't kill your son," he said with conviction.

The Dark Lord looked at him appraisingly for a moment, than rose.

"It's time for the Press Conference." He said shortly. He came around the desk and pulled Harry to his feet and towards the door. Harry yelped at the contact and tried to pull away, but Voldemort's grip was vice-like. He submitted and allowed himself to be led through the door and into the hallway.

A completely different hallway than the one he'd entered the office from.

"How . . .?"

"It's called the Central Point spell. It allows one area to connect to several pre-coordinated points. Sort of like a muggle transporter, or disapparating an entire room to certain places. This way I only have one office, but at several locations."

"Oh . . . where are we now then?" Harry asked.

"The main British Magical Court offices in London."

"Are we going to see Sirius now?" Harry asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

Voldemort pulled a pocket watch from his robe and looked at for a moment before replying, "I suppose we have time before the Press Conference, if you don't talk to long."

Harry bit his lip. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The hand still guiding him by the shoulder tightened momentarily and then let go altogether as they stepped into the lift. A cool female voice informed them when they were at the floor housing holding cells. Voldemort led the way through twisting corridors until they came to a checkpoint.

The Auror waved through Voldemort with a slight bow and gave Harry a curious look before letting him through as well.

The cell block was concrete and metal. It wasn't nice exactly, but it wasn't Azkaban, at least. Most were empty. Sirius was in the third cell down. He didn't notice Harry or Voldemort at first because he was lying on the thin mattress with his eyes closed. He didn't look too bad, which Harry was grateful for. A little tired, a bit dirty, but alive and mostly unharmed.

Harry cleared his throat. "Sirius?" he asked quietly.

Sirius' eyes shot open and he bolted up, looking around wildly until his eyes fastened onto Harry's. His mouth split into a huge wolfish grin.

"Harry! You're alright! I was so worried, they wouldn't tell me anything. After those damn Aurors hit you I—I thought you were—" his grin slipped.

"I'm fine, Sirius. Are you?" Harry came up to the bars. Sirius walked over as well.

"I'm fine, kiddo." He poked his hand through the bars and ruffled Harry's hair.

"It's odd. I would've thought they would've carted us all off to Azkaban by now." Sirius said.

"Yes, well you have young Harry to thank for that, Black."

They both turned to look at Voldemort. Sirius seemed to have just noticed he was in the room.

"What?"

"I . . . ah . . . . I . . ." Harry mumbled.

"Harry, _what did you do_?" Sirius demanded.

"He saved your life, mutt. Yours and all of your other little Rebels." Voldemort sneered.

"Harry . . .?" Sirius looked desperately at his godson.

"I . . . well I, um . . ."

"Spit it out, for God's sake!" Sirius barked.

"I agreed to become his ward so he'd let you go." Harry rushed out.

Sirius paled and then went red with anger. He glared at the Dark Lord.

"You . . . you _BASTARD_!" Sirius growled.

"It was his choice, Black." Voldemort replied in a dangerously calm voice.

"No it wasn't! You knew exactly what he'd do, you bloody fu—"

"_SIRIUS_!" Harry yelled.

Both men looked at him.

"It was my choice. Just please, go home. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Harry—"

"Please, Sirius." The boy pleaded.

"I'll come back for you," Sirius whispered fiercely, "I'll—"

Harry smiled bitterly. "No Sirius. No rescue missions, remember?"

"I don't care! I'm not leaving you here with that_ monster_!" Sirius growled.

"Yes, you are. Just go home. I'll be ok, I promise." Harry pleaded. "Please, Sirius. It'll all have been for nothing if you get caught again." He added.

And suddenly Harry was being pulled away from the bars by strong, lean arms fastened around his waist. He struggled.

"Harry, calm down. We're letting him go now." A soothing voice in his ear said. Harry went limp in Voldemort's arms and he was released, though the Dark Lord kept a grip on his shoulder.

Two Aurors led Sirius from his cell. Harry broke away from Voldemort and flew into Sirius arms. Sirius wound his arms tightly around his godson.

"I'll miss you Sirius." Harry whispered.

"Whatever Voldemort tells you, Harry, remember who you are." Sirius whispered.

And with that Sirius disentangled himself from his godson and allowed the Aurors to lead him from the cellblock.

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><p>Harry followed in a daze as Voldemort led him by the shoulder back into the side chamber next to the Conference Room.<p>

Harry hated crowds. He'd learner that. He hadn't even had to speak. He'd just had to "stand next to the Dark Lord and look handsome" as Voldemort's publicist had put it. Apparently that was supposed to be helpful.

The flash of cameras and sheer number of people had blinded him and made him feel like a caged animal on display. He didn't like feeling caged, but he had a feeling that's how he'd be feeling a lot from now on.

Voldemort had seemed completely at ease, smooth-talking the crowd with no effort.

The Press Conference hadn't been about him, thank God. It'd been about increased jobs inside the Court. Harry very nearly fell asleep several times. But hundreds of eyes peering curiously at you were hard to ignore. At the very end of his speech, Voldemort introduced him.

"_This is Harry James Potter, my ward. He was attending Beauxbatons as a foreign exchange student when he was involved in an attempted kidnapping by Rebels while visiting a nearby Wizarding village. His Parents died in the war, he was a ward of the school. We intercepted the kidnapping by coincidence while we were tracking Rebel movements. Harry has no living relatives, and no longer wished to attend Beauxbatons. He has transferred to Hogwarts for his fifth year. As Hogwarts doesn't take in wards, I have decided to become his legal guardian myself. Thank you."_

"The story's ludicrous." Harry grumbled.

Voldemort chuckled. "So unbelievable that it must be true, yes?"

"But Beauxbatons won't back you."

"I've already worked that out. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons has a soft spot for children in danger. I simply told her that you were under my protection and needed the story as a cover. She readily agreed. If anyone were to search your name, they would find all of the appropriate paperwork. Marks, living arrangements, even a school news article about your kidnapping."

Harry stared open-mouthed at him.

The publicist from hell—Ms. Carson or something—sauntered into the room then.

She smiled graciously at Voldemort and then turned to Harry.

"You were golden! So adorable and shy! The girls will be all over you at Hogwarts!"

Harry blushed a deep red.

Voldemort chuckled.

_I hate this._ Harry thought solemnly as the annoying woman pinched his cheek and cooed over him while Voldemort watched in amusement.

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><p><strong>Ok, so I know I said Harry and Voldy would go shopping. But this seemed a good way to end the chapter. So next chapter will be Harry and his "new home" and Voldy and Harry going shopping for Hogwarts.<strong>

**So review!**

**Next chapter will be up soon. Maybe tomorrow if I get enough reviews . . . **

**Anyway, g-bye!**


	6. Chapter 6: Wars and Wands

**Cian Keita: Yes, Sirius knows Harry is Voldemort's son, that's a point of conflict later. The light side isn't evil in this fic by the way, nor is Dumbledore. They took Harry for certain reasons, later Harry finds out why. Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**The Parallel Universe: thanks for the Sirius part, I was trying to have a sweet moment, I'm happy I succeeded! No, Voldemort definitely will keep Harry's name as Hadrian Riddle. But Harry knows Voldemort's real name so he can't call him Riddle without arousing suspicion in Harry. Harry will figure out his real name when he finds out everything else. Voldemort's a complex character, and hard to write, so I'm doing the best I can. He may be cold and distant at first, with odd little bursts of affection towards Harry every once in a while. Voldemort's not used to caring about people, especially not people who don't exactly like him or worship the ground he walks on. Voldemort's ooc simply because you can't see canon Voldemort with complex emotions. Hatred and pride was all he felt. In my story he can feel any emotion—mostly towards Harry. **

**olciak123: It's not that the Light promotes complete pureness; in fact Harry knows quite a few dark spells and curses. It's more that Harry's biased and rather naïve, he doesn't want to except that the Rebels can be rather underhanded and just as manipulative as Voldemort. Harry has no qualms about fighting dirty, but he doesn't really realize he's fighting dirty in the first place, that's just how he was raised to fight.**

**Anonymous: You'll be pissed off with the Light after Harry finds out how exactly they repressed his memories and parselmouth abilities. Remember Dumbledore's all for the greater good . . .**

**Thanks also to Amanda2308 and TheEscapeFromReality for their reviews.**

**I don't own Harry Potter. I do own the plot of this story; please don't use it without asking.**

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><p>Chapter 5: Wars and Wands<p>

They led Sirius through the corridors of the Court, but all he could think about was Harry. His godson was in the hands of the evilest man on the planet and it was his fault. If he hadn't relented and let Harry come on the stupid scouting mission this wouldn't have happened. What if he told Harry? He'd make it sound like they had kidnapped him in spite.

Harry would hate them.

He should have told Dumbledore to sod off and told Harry himself. That way he'd understand that Lily and James really had loved him. That they all loved him. So he'd understand why they had taken him away. And why they had taken measures to assure that Harry never found out who he was.

He had to tell Dumbledore. They had to get Harry out before it was too late.

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><p>They were back in Voldemort's office. Harry sat in the chair directly in front of Voldemort's desk, twiddling his thumbs distractedly. Voldemort was still doing paperwork. The scratch of a quill against parchment, the <em>click-click-click<em> of the clock, and the scuff of Harry's shoe against the floor were the only sounds.

"Something bothering you, Harry?"

_Well I'm your ward for starters, _Harry thought cynically, but he shook his head only to realize Voldemort hadn't looked up when he asked the question and answered, "No."

"Then sit still, will you? I'm trying to finish these reports and you're distracting me." Voldemort snapped.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled and stopped scuffing his shoe against the floor.

Voldemort went back to his mountain of reports; Harry sighed and slouched in his seat. A few moments later Harry spoke.

"Actually, there is something bothering me."

Voldemort looked up at him now.

Harry plowed on, not understanding his own spark of sudden courage.

"What do you expect me to do? At Hogwarts, I mean."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you could learn something."

"I'm two years ahead of them in everything." Harry said quietly. He wasn't trying to brag, but he didn't want to sit through material he'd learned already.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Harry said a bit defensively. "I studied on my own so I could start going on missions early."

"Ambition will take you far at Hogwarts, it seems you're not a complete Gryffindor." He said Gryffindor as you would say "rotting corpse".

"What I expect of you is not unreasonable, Harry. Get good marks, pass all of your OWLs, keep yourself out of trouble. Don't embarrass me or yourself."

"Will I get sorted?"

"Of course, it is tradition." Voldemort shook his head as if the idea of getting rid of any Hogwarts tradition was preposterous.

Voldemort stood, reports in hand, and deposited them in a filing cabinet.

"Let's go." He ordered.

"Where?" Harry asked, getting up.

Voldemort looked at him for a moment, than shook his head minutely. "Home."

Harry couldn't see Voldemort calling anywhere "home". It was to . . . normal.

"Oh."

They walked towards the door and when Voldemort opened it Harry wasn't surprised to see that it opened onto a hallway different from the other two he'd seen. This one was long and narrow, with a few doors on either side.

"Call for Tibby to take you to your room. Dinner is at seven." Harry was pushed through the door and it slammed behind him.

"Home sweet home," Harry muttered before calling for Tibby.

The chipper little elf appeared with a pop. "Hello Master Harry, sir! How is Tibby helping Master?"

"Um, can you take me to my room? And you don't have to call me Master, I'm just Harry."

"Oh, no, Master Harry sir! Tibby must call all masters of the house Master, sir. Master Harry's room is this way!" he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him down the hallway.

Harry was pulled into the foyer, an airy, open space. Sparsely furnished, but the furniture spoke of obvious but tasteful wealth. There were gigantic windows looking out onto the lush, green grounds and a crystalline lake. Opposite the great ebony and glass double doors was the double staircase, gently curving and gleaming like polished obsidian. A balcony topped the staircase, overlooking the entrance hall. They ascended the staircase and hooked a left, towards the north wing.

"Master has given young Master Harry the north wing." Tibby explained as he pulled Harry along. Harry made a choking sound.

"The _whole_ north wing?"

"Of course, Master Harry! Only Master Harry and Master can enter the north wing. And Tibby!" Tibby answered happily.

_What is he playing at? He gave me a whole _wing_ of his house!_

"Are you sure, Tibby?" Harry asked.

"Yes, sir! Tibby is sure. Master wants Master Harry to be happy here!"

Harry nearly snorted. _I doubt that._

Tibby walked up to a set of large mahogany doors with silver snakehead locks. He pressed his small shriveled hand against it and the doors glowed for a moment before swinging open on soundless hinges.

The room was huge.

There were huge windows looking out onto the mountains and wild forest. There were several bookcases, comfortable chairs and sofas. A fire blazed in the fireplace. There was a window seat on the bank of windows. There was a desk. Harry checked and found that the drawers were full of parchment, ink, and quills.

Everything was plain white.

He found a note in neat, elegant script that he guessed was Voldemort's sitting on the desktop.

_Harry-_

_The room is enchanted. Tell it what colors you want it to be and it will become those colors. Be specific. Your bedroom, bathroom, and training room are the same. Tell Tibby to get anything else you want . . . within reason._

_There are clothes in the wardrobe._

_The weapons in the training room are charmed; they can't be removed from the room._

_-Lord Voldemort_

Harry read through the note once more. The note was short and rather formal, but the Dark Lord didn't come off as cruel. Just not particularly friendly.

Harry sat down on the nearest sofa and kicked off his shoes, pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Tibby looked at him worriedly. "Is Master Harry alright?"

"I'm fine, Tibby. Thanks. I'm just a bit tired. You can go, I'm sure I can find my way around in here."

Tibby nodded and disappeared with a pop.

Everything came crashing down on Harry.

He was going to live with Voldemort. He was going to Hogwarts. He'd never see Sirius again. He'd never see Ron, Ginny, Luna or any of his other friends again. Everyone back at home would think he defected. Even if he escaped, he couldn't go home. He had no home anymore. He had no family anymore.

He was alone.

Harry set his forehead on his knees. There was no use crying over it. He'd saved Sirius and the others. That was all that mattered. Sirius would stand up for him. Maybe he could go home one day. If he could escape.

Harry vowed he would try.

"I won't stay here and be his obedient puppet," Harry whispered.

He pushed himself off the sofa and sighed.

He spent the next hour exploring and changing his rooms.

He settled on a midnight blue and dark wood theme. He'd always liked blue. He checked the clock on the wall and swore. It was 6:55. Dinner was a seven.

"Tibby!"

The elf appeared with a pop as usual.

"Tibby, can you apparate me to the dining room . . . or right outside the dining room?"

"Yes, Master Harry. Of course, Master Harry." The house elf grinned and gripped his hand again. Everything was black for a moment before he was standing just in front of a door.

He blew out a breath of air and pushed the door open. Voldemort was already sitting at the head of the table, waiting patiently.

"Cutting it close, Harry." He said.

"Sorry . . . Sir." Harry mumbled as he sat down at Voldemort's immediate right, the only other place at the large table that was set. Harry wished he could have sat farther down. Being within arm's reach of Voldemort made him anxious.

Dinner was a quiet affair, but still showcased great wealth. First course was soup and salad, than steak and roasted potatoes, followed by treacle tart, which Harry usually could eat in terrifying amounts. He found he could barely keep down the salad.

"Are you feeling unwell, Harry?" the question startled him. The Dark Lord was inquiring about his health.

"I'm fine." Harry answered automatically, pushing around the contents of his plate without looking up. He'd given that answer to adults many times, it usually wasn't true.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry looked up, surprised by the gentle tone.

"I am your guardian; you need to tell me if something is wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just tired. Can I be excused?" Harry asked.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong." Voldemort said pointedly.

Something in Harry erupted.

Harry stood abruptly, his emerald eyes hard. "You want to know what's wrong? This whole bloody situation is wrong. Sitting at the bloody table and pretending to be a family! You've already taken away my parents and my life, you can't replace them! Stop pretending to care. I'll be civil in public, but don't expect me to be your perfect little ward here."

"You _are_ my ward, or have you forgotten that? I expect you to behave as such. Maybe you weren't taught manners by the scum you call family, but rest assured I will teach it to you. You'll do as you're told or you'll pay the consequences, understand?" Voldemort hissed back.

Harry sneered. "What are you going to do? Ground me? _Torture me_?"

Voldemort's face went blank. "Go to bed. Now."

Harry bowed mockingly to him and sneered, "Yes, _my Lord_."

Than Harry turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

Voldemort watched him go, Harry's voice ringing in his head.

_You've already taken away my parents and my life, you can't replace them!_

_Stop pretending to care!_

_What are you going to do? Ground me? _Torture me_?_

Nagini slithered from her hiding place and up Voldemort's chair, onto his narrow shoulders. He scratched her head absently.

"_I've messed up, haven't I Nagini?"_ he hissed quietly in parseltongue.

* * *

><p>Harry quickly became lost. He didn't think he could handle Tibby's cheery obedience at that point, so he found a small storage room and managed to throw himself inside before he started crying.<p>

He hadn't cried since his parents died three years ago.

But everything seemed to crash down around him. The fear of losing everything, the pain of losing his parents, the confusion about Voldemort's motives, the frustration and hopelessness.

So for once he let himself cry.

Eventually Harry slipped into an exhausted sleep.

_The room was dark and Harry was scared._

_He could hear his father screaming and his mother pleading with their captors to stop hurting him. But they wouldn't stop hurting James. Harry had never heard his mum cry before this._

_The bad men were laughing and taunting his parents but Harry couldn't understand what they were saying. His mind was fuzzy and his arms hurt._

_James stopped screaming._

_What where they doing?_

_The bad men were grabbing him now, throwing him at the wall where his parents were bound._

_Lily pleaded louder than ever._

_His mum looked terrible, her bright red hair plastered to her face with blood and every inch of her skin bruised. James looked worse. He was pale as a sheet and hanging limply from his chains. Harry scrambled over to him._

"_Dad?" Harry shook his shoulder gently. There was no response. He shook him harder, even though he knew his father wouldn't wake up._

_Lily was sobbing now. Harry crawled over to her, but was pulled away. He was pinned to the floor, a man over him. Harry looked at him with wide, terrified green eyes._

"_Such a pretty little boy."_

_That set off the warning bells in Harry's head and he struggled against the man. _

_The man tried to touch him and Harry screamed, a powerful burst of accidental magic fueled by fear ripped through him. The man was sent flying across the dirty concrete room._

"_Harry!"_

"_HARRY!"_

"HARRY!"

Harry bolted up from his position on the floor. Voldemort was leaning over him and for a moment Harry couldn't remember where he was. Than he remembered the fight they'd had over dinner and how he'd hidden in the storage closet after getting lost.

"S-sorry . . . I—"

"It's alright. Why don't I just get you to bed." Voldemort's voice was oddly gentle. He was still dressed, though he'd taken off his robe and shoes. His hair was mussed as if he'd fallen asleep at his desk and there were circles under his eyes.

He looked so normal at that point that Harry could nearly forget that he was the Dark Lord Voldemort. He looked more like an over-worked muggle businessman at that point.

Harry took his offered hand and got up, letting go quickly. He followed Voldemort back into the foyer and up the stairs, through a twist of corridors and to the mahogany doors.

"_Open." _Voldemort hissed and the doors opened.

Harry hurried to the door to his room. Before closing it he turned back to Voldemort, "Thank you," he said quietly, than closed the door softly behind him. He snuggled under the covers and was asleep almost instantly, leaving behind all thoughts of what he'd been through when he was twelve.

* * *

><p>The next morning Harry was awoken by a slightly frantic Tibby.<p>

"Master Harry, sir! Master is wanting you in the dining room right away!"

Harry sighed. "Alright Tibby, I'm up, I'm up."

Ten minutes later Harry was standing in front of Voldemort, wearing clean clothes, hair and teeth brushed, and nervous as hell.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"We're going to Diagon Alley after breakfast." Voldemort said distractedly, looking Harry over as if something bothered him.

Harry, determined not to start another conflict, just nodded. "Ok, sir."

After breakfast, the two apparated—well Harry side-along apparated—straight to Diagon Alley. Harry had never been, and like every young wizard, he was dazzled by the cheerful Wizarding Alley. Harry wished he had eight more eyes . . . There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had only ever seen in Dumbledore's tent, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon. The whole place had an aura of magic and Harry couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"We're here for Hogwarts school supplies." Voldemort explained as he led Harry towards _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. _

"I haven't got any money."

"I'm your guardian. You don't need money." Voldemort said shortly.

And it turned out to be true. As soon as most of the shop keepers saw Voldemort and Harry they insisted that Harry had the finest things in their shops for free.

Harry sighed, he'd never liked being the center of attention.

One thing Voldemort did pay for was a snowy white owl that Harry named Hedwig.

"I'm away on business a lot, you need a good owl that can find me. I expect a letter once a week." Voldemort told him.

"You want me to write you? What about?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"Your marks, any concerns you have, anything you think I should know."

"You want me to write you about teenage angst?" Harry muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He must have died and gone to some truly screwed up alternate universe.

They got Harry's wand last.

"I have a wand." Harry told Voldemort.

"But it is not originally yours. There will be no wand that works as well as the one that picks you, Harry."

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Voldemort sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I'd thought I'd have seen you before now, Harry . . . Potter." He said haltingly, glancing at Voldemort, "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a half inches long, swishy, made of cherry. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a yew wand. Thirteen and a half inches. Pliable. Powerful and excellent for virtually any type of magic. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. "Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"Sorry sir, but my father's wand wasn't yew. It was mahogany. And my mum's was willow."

Ollivander looked nervously at Voldemort before changing the subject.

"Well, now—Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Right."

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—" Harry tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out." Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh. Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand. He felt sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... " he looked a bit worriedly at Voldemort, who had watched the entire episode silently.

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"He finds it curious that your wand shares a twin core with my own, if I am correct, Ollivander?" Voldemort said bluntly.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from Mr. Potter . . . After all, the Dark Lord did ah—great things." Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. Voldemort paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

"He's . . .odd." Harry said as they left the shop.

Voldemort looked back at the shop. "Perhaps, but he makes good wands."

"You got your wand there?"

"Everyone in Britain does." Voldemort said shortly. Harry decided not to push it.

They walked in silence for a while . . . until Harry's stomach betrayed him by growling.

"Let's eat," Voldemort said, turning toward a small café at the edge of the alley.

Just before he turned, Harry thought he saw the Dark Lord's lips twitch.

* * *

><p><strong>So there's chapter 5, the longest I have ever written. EVER. I hope you guys liked it.<strong>

**The description of the alley and the Ollivander part were both from Philosopher's Stone with editing to make it fit the story.**

**I'm changing the rating to Mature because of Harry's past. It won't get worse than the events in this chapter. So that's how his parents died, more on that later to clear everything up.**

**I don't know when I'll update next because I'm busy next weekend, that's why I did two chapters this weekend.**

**No more than the weekend after next, Hunger Games release weekend! OMG! Then I'm on Spring Break, so I'll get a few chapters in on both of my stories.**

**Anyway review, ask questions.**

**Until next time**

**-Ginny**


	7. Chapter 7: Better be    Slytherin!

**Outofthisworldgal: no, Harry didn't catch Ollivander's slip up, it's not that he's not smart. He just has a lot on his mind. Remember he's fifteen, in an unfamiliar and scary situation; would you have caught that little detail?**

**Kathrin J Pearl: um, I'm not exactly sure what chapter he'll figure it out in, but it'll probably be around chapter 17. **

**Thanks to UntalentedArtist, Anon, RachelDare,** **olciak123, Amanda2308, and The Parallel Universe for your reviews!**

**Ok, so I kind of screwed up on the dates that this story takes place in. It's the canon dates for everything. So just imagine that this chapter takes place on September first.**

**Harry Potter isn't mine.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Better be <em>Slytherin!<em>

Harry sat alone in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He'd never thought he'd actually go to Hogwarts. His parents had talked about it with an air of revere, like it was heaven. They'd spoken of its long corridors and moving staircases, its Great Hall and Gryffindor Tower as if there was nothing better in the world. They'd looked depressed when they told Harry that he wouldn't be able to see the Castle in all of its glory.

But now he was. Even if the circumstances weren't exactly great.

He wasn't planning on staying long, so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

He leaned his forehead against the window and watched the hills role past. The compartment door opened.

"Oh, sorry. No one's ever in this compartment." A female voice said behind him. He turned to see a girl around his age with brown hair falling in a braid over her shoulder and admittedly rather large buck teeth. Despite that, she had a pretty face. She was dressed in muggle jeans and a red hoodie. She looked slightly nervous, as if she'd done something wrong.

"It's fine." Harry said, turning back towards the window. He could feel the girl's presence still in the compartment. He looked back to see her hovering in the doorway, watching him nervously.

"You can sit here if you want." He told her, not sure what to say.

She looked at him startled for a second—eyes wide—before moving further into the compartment cautiously, putting her trunk on the shelf over her head and sitting on the edge of the bench. She looked ready to flee at any moment.

They sat in intense silence for almost an hour before Harry finely broke it.

"I'm Harry."

The girl looked up from her shoes, surprise evident on her face.

"Um, Hermione . . ." she answered quietly, as if not used to talking to people. Maybe she was shy.

"I'm a fifth year, you?" Harry prodded.

"Me too."

"What house?"

She looked almost angry now.

"I'm not sorted." She said in a tight, clipped tone.

"But . . . why?" Harry asked, confused.

She did look angry now.

"Look, I dunno why you're talking to me at all, but you don't have to rub it in my face." Hermione hissed.

Harry was taken aback by this.

"Rub what in your face?"

She shot him a murderous glare. "Forget it." She snapped.

"No, what's got your wand in a knot?"

"That you think you're superior just because I'm a bloody Muggle-Born!" the girl growled, she got up to drag her trunk off the shelf and leave.

"Wait! I wasn't making fun of you. I didn't know Muggle-Borns weren't sorted and I didn't know you were Muggle-Born."

She scowled. "Everyone at Hogwarts knows that Muggle-Borns aren't sorted and everyone knows I'm Muggle-Born."

"I'm new."

"What?"

"I'm new, this is my first year at Hogwarts, I went . . . somewhere else before." Harry explained.

She seemed to calm down a bit. "Well then here's a piece of advice, don't talk to the Muggle-Borns." And with that she turned on her heel and left the compartment, tugging her trunk after her.

A little while later the compartment door slid open again. This time it was a pale blonde boy with silver eyes. He had an arrogant smirk planted firmly on his face and Harry already knew he wouldn't like him. Harry hated arrogant people.

The boy took in his (Voldemort purchased) expensive robes and aristocratic facial features and apparently deemed him worthy of his presence. He strutted into the compartment and took a seat with no invitation, watching Harry appraisingly.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He said arrogantly, as if Harry should be bowing down to him and kissing the hem of his robes. Harry snorted internally at the prospect. On the outside his face remained emotionless as he replied in a rather bored voice, "That's brilliant."

Harry knew exactly who he was, or at least his who his father was. Lucius Malfoy was an arrogant man, just like his son. He was the commander of Voldemort's army and the Dark Lord's right hand man. Harry had never met him personally but he'd heard stories of his arrogance and cruelty, of his prejudice and his thirst for power.

Malfoy Jr. looked slightly taken aback by Harry's answer, but his arrogant smirk was back in place before long.

"My father is Commander of the Dark Lord's armies, someday I will be taking his place." He drawled.

"Again, that's brilliant." Harry drawled right back.

"I'm the Commander's son," Malfoy hissed, "Maybe you should show some respect for your betters."

Harry leered at him as he replied calmly. "And perhaps _you_ should learn who _your_ betters are _before_ you insult them."

At Malfoy's blank look, Harry sighed.

"I'm Harry Potter, the _Dark Lord's ward_."

Draco Malfoy went even paler at that.

"I'm sorry, I . . . didn't realize . . ."

"Yes, well maybe if you'd pulled your rather large head out of your ass, you'd have realized it." Harry said amusedly.

Draco stared at him for a moment before fleeing with what remained of his dignity.

Harry couldn't help the small smirk that twitched on his lips, maybe being the Dark Lord's ward wasn't _all_ bad.

"That was bloody brilliant!"

There was a boy standing in front of him now, Harry sighed. Would he ever get some solitude?

The boy was rather short and a bit on the plump side, with mousy brown hair.

"Was it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah! I—I've never seen anyone stand up to Malfoy like that. He thinks because his dad is the Commander that's he's something special. He's a terrible bully, especially to Gryffindors . . . and Muggle-Borns." The last part was said quietly.

"Are you Muggle-Born?"

"No, Gryffindor. But that's almost as bad." The boy said sadly.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I dunno, recon it's because of Du-Dumbledore." The boy stumbled over the name and looked around nervously.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Well, he was a Gryffindor wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Did you meet him?"

Harry looked up, startled. Had someone already figured out his real past?

"What?"

"When you were kidnapped, did you meet him?"

Oh. He was talking about the cover story.

"No, the Aurors saved me before they could really do anything." Harry almost winced, he didn't want to tell people that Voldemort's men had saved him.

"You were going to Beauxbatons before?" the boy asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered, starting to get uncomfortable with the questions.

"You don't sound French."

"C'est parce que j'ai surtout parlé français à l'école. J'ai vécu avec ma tante en Grande-Bretagne jusqu'à ce que j'avais treize ans, mais j'ai encore allé à Beauxbatons." Harry answered in fluent French. It had been required that you knew at least two languages at the Rebel Camp.

"Er . . . what?"

"That's because I mostly spoke French at school. I lived with my aunt in Britain until I was thirteen, but I still went to Beauxbatons." He'd been told that was his cover story by Voldemort, he figured he'd better stick with it.

"Oh. Well I'm Neville by the way. Neville Longbottom."

"Harry Potter."

"We're almost there, I'd better get changed. See you round, Harry."

"Yeah, see you." Harry said.

* * *

><p><em>A thousand years or more ago<em>

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favourites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_

Harry listened to the Sorting Hat's song with some trepidation, worrying what house he would be placed in. It didn't help that he was going last, or that Voldemort was present. He sat at the head of the staff table like a King on his thrown, and his eyes were fastened on no one but Harry.

"Potter, Harry." The deputy Headmistress, Bellatrix Lestrange—the crazy woman—called at last.

Harry climbed the steps onto the raised dais where the staff table sat proudly, holding his breath. He sat a bit awkwardly on the three legged stool—it was meant for first years after all—and felt the hat being settled on his head.

The Great Hall was completely silent. Everyone wanted to know where the Dark Lord's ward would be.

"Hmm," a small voice in his ear said, "Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see, and a good mind. There's talent, oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

_Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin._

"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness! There's no doubt about that! Yes, I know exactly where to put you. Better be . . . _SLYTHERIN!_"

"No," Harry whispered as he felt the hat be lifted from his head. The Hall was still silent. Harry couldn't make himself look up at the mass of students.

Suddenly loud clapping could be heard ringing in the Hall. Harry turned to see Voldemort standing and clapping slowly, deliberately, his eyes fastened on Harry's pale face.

Slowly others joined in until the whole Hall rang with the sound of clapping and even some cheering and at that moment Harry wished he could sink into the floor and disappear. He didn't want to be a Slytherin, it was a victory for Voldemort.

Harry stepped off the dais and turned toward the Slytherin table, then before he could justify what he was doing, he ran from the Great Hall. He knew he looked like a coward. He knew eventually he'd have to face the fact that he was a Slytherin. That Voldemort was winning. That he'd already won.

But at that point Harry just had to escape. He needed to get away from the mass of curious students, the judgmental professors, and the Dark Lord's proud crimson eyes. He needed to be alone. He could deal with the Hell he called his life tomorrow.

He settled by the lake, under a large willow tree. It was already dark and it was cold, but the night was clear and Harry could see the stars twinkling at him through the willow branches. He leaned his head back against the trunk and let out a sigh.

Tomorrow could wait.

* * *

><p><strong>So there is chapter . . . you know, I lost count. I think it's seven.<strong>

**I might update again, I don't know. Give my fingers a rest.**

**I'm on break, thank the Lord!**

**French translation from Google translate, so it's probably wrong. sorry.**

**On a completely unrelated note . . . HUNGER GAMES WAS **_**AMAZING**_**! I've seen it twice already and I might see it again this week.**

**Anyway, expected a few chapters this week.**

**I have a question for you guys. Those of you that have read my other story—The Seventh Horcrux—you know I haven't updated it in a while. I'm kind of losing interest in it, but I still want to finish it . . . eventually. Should I put it on hold and finish this one, then come back to it? Or just continue both? Just warning you, that would mean longer stretches between updates for this story.**

**Between school, homework, swim team, and a general life, I don't get to update much as I'd like to. I really wish I had a laptop *sighs* oh well, maybe someday.**

**Anyway, review. PM me, I don't care.**

**-Ginny**


	8. Chapter 8: The MuggleBorn Education Pro

**Anonymous: he won't be way smarter, but let's just say he is definitely the top of his year. Harry is modest though, so he won't flaunt it. Hermione will be jealous! (lol)**

**Thanks to AlwaysGryffindor13, gsalilsecret, TheEscapeFromReality, Amanda2308, The Parallel Universe, Outofthisworldgal, Egyptprncssxox for your awesome reviews!**

**I didn't answer questions because they were all about muggle-borns and that's what this chapter is about.**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Chapter 7: The Muggle-Born Education Proclamation<p>

Eventually, Harry knew he had to go to the Slytherin dorms and get some sleep. But thanks to his moment of stupidity, he had no ideas where said dorms were. What had he been thinking? How could he run off like that?

He'd panicked and ran. But he was _Harry Potter_. He didn't run away from rough situations. Back at home he'd been known for running head-first into trouble and usually coming out (relatively) unscathed. But that had all been fake. He'd never been in actual danger.

Harry had never realized how completely sheltered from the real world he was. He'd thought himself superior to students at Hogwarts because he was a rebel. Because he fought Voldemort. But he didn't, not really. The grown-ups fought Voldemort while the children trained to fight Voldemort.

Dumbledore sent him out into the field and look what happened. He hadn't been ready and now he was trapped. He had to play the Dark Lord's perfect little ward to keep Sirius safe. Get good marks, look happy, make Voldemort look good.

He wasn't exactly off to a good start. Voldemort was probably furious. Harry had to wonder why he wasn't pulled into Voldemort's office and yelled at for making the Dark Lord look bad.

_Screw it, _Harry thought, _I don't care anymore._

"_Harry!" _he heard his name being called in the distance. Harry sighed, time to face Voldemort.

He came out from under the cover of the willow tree and called out, "I'm here!"

A tall slender figure came into view and with a sigh he walked to meet him. Voldemort did indeed look furious. His crimson eyes seemed to glow with anger in the darkness. Harry felt fear start to churn in the pit of his stomach and squashed it down.

"Where have you been?" Voldemort growled. He stood imposingly over Harry, glaring down at him.

"Here," Harry answered blandly.

"I've had search parties out here looking for you, did you not hear them?"

"I heard them." Harry said, looking emotionlessly a Voldemort.

"And you decided to ignore them?" Voldemort hissed.

"Yes," Harry snapped.

Voldemort grabbed Harry's upper arm roughly and started dragging him toward the castle.

"We'll continue this in my office." He said in a deadly calm voice. Harry allowed himself to be dragged back into the castle and up several flights of stairs to a plain, unmarked door.

Voldemort hissed an annoyed "_open_" under his breath and dragged Harry into his office.

"Sit down." Harry complied, knowing he was in enough trouble as it is. Why was he so thick around Voldemort? He didn't mouth of like that in front of anyone else, not even Dumbledore and he hated the Stupid Old Goat.

Voldemort walked over to the fireplace and used the floo to firecall the Headmaster and tell him to call off the search for Harry.

He sat back down in his chair behind his big cherry wood desk, and Harry again had the overwhelming feeling of being sent to the Headmaster. Only this time he _had_ done something wrong.

"Why did you run in the Great Hall?"

Harry looked up from his lap. Voldemort didn't look angry, just curious._ Bipolar madman._

"I panicked." Harry answered quietly, going with the truth. He felt his cheeks get hot and he ducked his head.

"Why?"

"I'm not very good with crowds . . ." Harry was still avoiding the Dark Lord's gaze, not sure he could handle his red eyes probing at him, seeing right through him like Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze.

"I don't think that's the reason you ran, Harry."

"Well, it is." Harry snapped.

"What do you think of your placement in Slytherin?"

"Did you purposely put me in Slytherin?" Harry asked, looking up.

"No, Harry. That was all you." Voldemort said with a proud glint in his eyes.

"But I'm not a Slytherin! I'm nothing like a Slytherin!" Harry argued.

Voldemort understood the underlying meaning in that, _I'm nothing like you!_

"You are very much a Slytherin, Harry." Voldemort stated firmly.

"You don't know me!"

"From what I've seen and heard, you are very much a Slytherin."

"Oh? How so?"

"You are ambitious, are you not? You told me yourself that you studied ahead of the others at your camp so Dumbledore would have to let you go on a mission. That is a trait of a Slytherin."

"That's one thing." Harry shot back.

"You also have an undying thirst to prove yourself. I have seen that myself. You do not yield, you do not stop fighting me because you don't want to be thought of as weak. That is also a trait sought after by Slytherin in his students."

"I'm not cunning." Harry tried.

"Aren't you?"

"No," Harry insisted.

"You never think through a situation before diving in?"

"No, I'm a Gryffindor on that account."

"You're in the eye of the press now Harry, you may want to think about what you do before you act." Voldemort seemed amused.

"Truth be told Harry, you would do well in any of Hogwarts' houses. You have the bravery of a Gryffindor, the ambition of a Slytherin, the mind of a Ravenclaw, and the accepting nature of a Hufflepuff. You are the embodiment of Hogwarts in one."

"How am I accepting in nature?"

"You don't discriminate. I know you talked to that muggle-born girl, Granger." Harry figured he must have been talking about Hermione.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

Voldemort chuckled at Harry's expression. "This is my school, Harry. This is my country. I have eyes everywhere. And quite a few of them are trained on you."

"You're having people stalk me?" Harry asked, astounded.

"More to guard you. You're my ward, which makes you a target to my enemies." Voldemort could guess what Harry would say next. "Not all of my enemies are part of the Rebels. Many are still here, in the guise of normal British citizens, or even working in the Court. I'm more worried about them. They have easier access to you and no doubt more malevolent intentions."

"And you don't want me to escape." Harry muttered.

Voldemort gave him an annoyed look. "When will you stop insisting that I'm keeping you prisoner?"

"When you let me go?"

"That won't be happening."

"Then I'm a prisoner. An apparently important, secret prisoner." Harry shot back.

Voldemort shook his head minutely. "I won't fight with you about this at two o'clock in the morning. Go to bed, Harry."

Harry turned beet red.

He mumbled something.

"What?"

"I don't know where it is . . ."

"it's down in the Dungeons."

"I don't know where that is?"

Perhaps you should have stayed long enough for a prefect to show you the way before running of then."

Harry rolled his eyes and headed towards the door.

"One more thing Harry."

"What?"

"Avoid that Muggle-Born girl. Hermione Granger has a reputation unbefitting for any type of. . . relationship with the Dark Lord's ward."

Harry glared at him. "I choose my friends, not you."

"But I can do what I please with your friends, so make sure to befriend the right people."

"Like who? Malfoy? He's an arrogant prat," Harry shot back.

"But it would look good to the public, and being friends with the Commander's son would benefit you both."

"I don't bloody care! I don't like Malfoy!" Harry yelled.

"And I don't particularly like France, that doesn't mean Britain doesn't benefit from our alliance."

Harry blew out a breath of frustration before opening the door, leaving with a yell of "See you at Christmas!" and the slam of the door.

* * *

><p>There was a knock at his office door and Voldemort offered a curt "Enter."<p>

The two men he'd hired to tail Harry—Kurt Hienley and Matthew Clearwater—entered the room, fidgeting nervously. Voldemort's calm exterior seemed more frightening than his blind rages.

"So which one of you worthless scum would like to explain how you managed to misplace a fifteen year old boy on _school grounds_?" Voldemort's voice cut like knives and both men flinched.

"I—I'm sorry my Lord. He slipped away from us." Clearwater said quietly.

"Yes, I realize that. I found him. But what if he goes missing again? What if he ends up in the Forbidden Forest? Or what if he gets kidnapped on a Hogsmead weekend? Because he managed to slip away _slipped away_?"

"My Lord! Please—!"

"Crucio!"

Both men fell to the floor screaming and withering. Voldemort only kept the spell on them for a moment.

"Now get out of my office. And if Harry even blinks without you knowing about it, you'll wish I hadn't let you switch sides in the war!"

Both men nodded and bowed before scurrying from the room like scared animals.

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><p><em>The Dark Lord's bloody ward.<em>

This was all Hermione could find herself thinking as she roamed the corridors. She did this often; as it was the only time she could walk without constantly worrying about being attacked by the Pureblooded brats that thought she was a punching bag.

It was pretty much the same for all of the Muggle-Borns, though there weren't many at Hogwarts. There was a separate school for Muggle-Borns, but Hermione was one of the few with high enough test scores to have been transferred to Hogwarts. She wished she hadn't.

Ever since Voldemort had won the war and instated the Muggle-Born Education Proclamation life hadn't been good for Muggle-Borns. The proclamation stated that all Muggle-Borns would be incorporated into Wizard society as soon as they were found. This meant that they were kidnapped by the Court and put into a sort of Wizard World foster care system until them became eleven, at which point they became wards of the school and got an education. As Hogwarts didn't take in wards Hermione was placed back into the Muggle-Born Home until the holidays were over.

Muggle-Borns at Hogwarts weren't to be sorted and couldn't wear robes; they had to wear Muggle clothes. They weren't taught in the same room as the Purebloods and Half-bloods, neither could they eat with them or even really speak with them.

The staff didn't seem to care that the Muggle-Borns were constantly bullied. The Headmaster was bluntly indifferent.

And pureblooded students, like bloody Draco Malfoy, were treated like the over-privileged gits they were. They got the well-paying jobs, the praise, and the wealth. Muggle-Borns could work harder than any Pureblood and still end up living on the street with not a cent to their name. Because no one wants to hire a Muggle-Born.

The constant bullying and the need to protect herself had hardened Hermione. She was smart, in a just system; she would have had good marks in all of her classes. She'd come to Hogwarts a hardworking, eager young girl read to learn. Now she was more worried about getting a job or even graduating. Her marks had slipped as she had almost no time to study. Muggle-Borns weren't allowed in the library and they didn't have a common room, so she had no place to study either.

And people like bloody Harry Potter got everything. He'd be worse than Malfoy, she knew it. How could he not be? He was the Dark Lord's son. The Tyrant of a Leader would set his ward up as some kind of Prince, tonight was a perfect example.

His perfect little ward had run off after being sorted and who had to go out in the cold and look for him? Why the Muggle-Borns of course. It wasn't Potter's fault, oh no. it couldn't possibly be perfect Potter's fault that he ran off in the middle of the Feast.

He got no punishment for his actions and what did the Muggle-Borns get? Sore feet, and a cold.

Hermione looked up as she heard footsteps coming her way. She looked up and saw Potter. _Speak of the devil._ She ducked behind a statue.

He walked closer until he was directly in front of the statue. He stopped.

"You can come out. I know you're there." His voice was soft and his tone (surprisingly) wasn't rude or mocking. He probably didn't realize it was her.

"Come on, Hermione. We're both breaking curfew, I'm not going to rat you out if you don't rat me out." Hermione poked her head around the side of the statue to see Harry leaning against the opposite wall with his arm crossed over his chest, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

She cautiously moved out from behind the statue, her eyes on the boy opposite her.

He hadn't moved and he was still smiling.

"Why are you out so late?" he asked curiously.

"Why are you?" she shot back.

His smile faltered. "My lovely_ guardian_ gave me a dressing down for the scene I made in the Great Hall."

Hermione was surprised by the animosity in his voice when he talked about the Dark Lord.

"You don't like the Dark Lord?" the question slipped out before she could stop it.

He sighed. "It's . . . complicated, I guess. So, why are _you_ out so late?"

"I was walking . . . and thinking."

"Oh."

"Yeah . . ."

They stood in uncomfortably for a moment before Harry spoke.

"Do you happen to know where the Slytherin dorms is, I haven't a clue."

"Yeah, they're this way."

She turned toward the staircase and Harry followed her as she led him down several flights of stairs, through the Entrance Hall, down more stair, to the Dungeons, through corridors and finely to a blank space of wall.

"I think the password is Pureblood pride," she said, trying to keep the disgust from her voice.

Harry offered her a tentative smile, "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave his a funny look.

"What?" he asked looking himself over to see if there was something wrong with his clothes.

"You keep calling me Hermione," she said.

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yes. But you wouldn't know it. You'd think my name was Mudblood from how many times I've been called that."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I hate that word."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised.

Harry nodded. "My mum was Muggle-Born. She was a damn good witch."

This surprised Hermione even more. She hadn't expected the Dark Lord to take in a Half-blood. Or anyone who disagreed with his ideas.

"Oh." She said.

"Well, thanks for showing me to my dorms. See you round, Hermione." He gave her one of his friendly smiles and disappeared into the Slytherin common room.

She shook her head.

_Bloody confusing Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Chapter eight, done! Or is that seven. Whatever!<strong>

**I'll probably update tomorrow. Tell you what, if I make it to 62 reviews by tomorrow, I'll update. That's only 10 reviews, and I usually get around 8. So just review, one of you story alert people! I don't care if it's just "Good chapter!" or something.**

**Anyway, bye!**

**-Ginny**


	9. Chapter 9: And He Shall be His Downfall

**The Parallel Universe: I'm having a bit of trouble keeping Voldemort in character, I'll admit it. It's hard to write him for this story because he was so one dimensional in the canon. He wouldn't have cared if Harry was his son, so it's kind of hard to write him in character AND as a caring, slightly awkward father. That's why I had the torture scene, so you got a glimpse canon Voldie. He tones his cruelty down a bit around Harry because Harry already thinks he's cruel just from rumors. And yes, Ron is at the Rebel camp with the Rebel Camp with all the other Weasleys. He WILL be in the story later, but that's later.**

**AlwaysGryffindor13: thanks, your reviews always make me smile! Harry won't be dark in this fic. At all. He'll be more canon than Voldemort, but he's still kind of ooc. He has to be, because this is AU. Harry's experiences in canon made him who he was. My Harry went through different things, so he's different.**

**Lluvia: like I said above, he's kind of ooc. Harry went through a lot when he was younger. Plus I'm trying to show a more realistic Harry. In canon he was kind of like a super-human and nothing affected him. Sirius died in canon—Harry was depressed but he got over it. He got kidnapped by Voldemort—that would have been traumatizing for anyone else but Harry just kind of brushed it off. Harry might be a bit more likely to run at first in this fic, but he'll grow up and stop running, don't worry. Remember, Harry's only fifteen and a lot less experienced in this AU. Just give him a chance to settle in and grow up a bit.**

**Wildeh: he can't really remember Esella yet because of how Dumbledore locked his memories of his biological parents (I'll get into that later). But Harry's curiosity will get the better of him and he'll research her.**

**MissGallagherGirl: Don't worry, Voldie will show up again before Christmas. Harry was just being a smartass :D**

**Thanks to fangirl-friend2, gsalilsecret, FiveofDiamonds, Latiosus,** **Amanda2308, nin4, hewhoshallnotbenamed, foxtrot 21, anon, meep, and Aisling-Siobhan,** **Cian Keita for your awesome reviews! **

**Thanks to all of you guys, you're awesome! I got 19 reviews!**

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><p>Chapter 8: And He Shall be His Downfall<p>

Sirius sat in the chair opposite Albus Dumbledore, glaring daggers at the old man. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as the always did, and he showed no signs of worry for Harry. Sirius had arrived back at the Camp only minutes ago, have had to used muggle transportation to get anywhere near it because the Court hadn't returned his wand.

There was the Daily Prophet flattened out in front of him. It showcased a picture of Harry—_his_ Harry—standing next to Voldemort. Harry kept his head down and fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. Voldemort would look down at Harry and squeeze his shoulder every few moments, the perfect picture of a nervous teenager and his caring guardian. Sirius snorted as he read the article.

_**The Dark Lord Takes in a Ward!**_

_It was confirmed in the early evening of last night that the Ruler of Great Britain, the Dark Lord Voldemort, has taken in a ward. The boy in question, Harry James Potter, was seen at a Press Conference with the Dark Lord, raising many questions as to who he was. It was explained later by the Dark Lord himself that the boy was his ward. Harry is British born, but was attending Beauxbatons Institute of Magic as a foreign exchange student. His parents, though neutral, had been killed in the war and Potter was raised by his aunt._

_Only a week ago, the Beauxbatons students were enjoying the day at a local Wizarding village—much like Hogsmead—when Rebels ambushed the small village. Potter and others were taken. By coincidence, British Aurors were scouting an old warehouse when several Rebels apparated with their hostages._

_The Aurors managed to secure the safety of the students but the Rebels, including the blood-traitor Sirius Black—wanted for treason and other charges—managed to escape. When asked by an Auror involved in the rescue was asked, he replied, "We weren't expecting anything at all and honestly, I'm just glad we got all the kids out unharmed." _

_Potter, who had been a ward of the school since the death of his aunt in his second year, decided he wanted to return home to Britain. No one can blame him after the traumatizing event that occurred._

_The Dark Lord heard about Potter's case and immediately stepped forward to take the boy in. "He's a British citizen and therefore he's my concern. I've always had a soft spot for children and I never got to raise my own son. The boy is orphaned and I lost my son, it seemed like it would work out."_

_And work out it has, Harry is now starting his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Our hearts go with the Dark Lord and his new ward, hoping he settles well and prospers from his new life and our Lord's generosity._

Sirius scowled as he read through the article.

"We have to get him back." He said firmly.

"We can do no such thing." Dumbledore said calmly.

"What?" Sirius' head shot up.

"Did I ever explain why we took Harry from Voldemort, Sirius?"

"Well, no. But it's obvious, isn't it? We'd have had another Dark Lord on our hands, and no kid deserves to be raised by that monster."

"While that is certainly true, no. that is not the reason we took Harry and raised him as one of our own. You see, Sirius, there is a prophesy ."

"About Harry?"

"About the both of them. Harry and Voldemort."

"What does it say?"

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes.

"_A time of sheltered darkness_

_Shall fall over the land_

_Governed by a Dark Lord_

_And he will rule_

_Until one born of his own blood_

_Finds his way home_

_And he will be his downfall."_

"That's the prophesy?" Sirius asked.

"Yes. It is Harry's destiny to kill his father and end his tyranny." Dumbledore said solemnly. "I just ensured that he was trained to do it."

"But . . . the prophesy doesn't say _Voldemort_ will die. It could be talking about Harry." Sirius argued.

"I'm aware of that."

Sirius rose angrily. "So you sent Harry on that scouting mission . . ."

"Yes, Sirius. I knew there was a chance I would be setting the Prophesy in action. Harry must rid the world of Voldemort."

"Did James and Lily know you were raising their son for slaughter?" Sirius barked.

Dumbledore winced. "I think Harry will kill Voldemort. He will not be slaughtered. But no, you're the first I've told."

"You didn't even tell Harry? Honestly, Dumbledore? You sent a fifteen year old boy—a child—to kill the Dark Lord and didn't even tell him what you were doing."

"It is in Fate's hands. What is meant to happen, will happen." Dumbledore stated calmly.

"And if it's Destiny for Harry to be killed by Voldemort?"

"Then there is nothing we could have done to stop it."

Sirius flattened his palms against Dumbledore's desk, leaning in so Sirius' face was close to the old man's.

"Fuck you, Dumbledore. And Fuck destiny. If you won't help me get Harry, I'll go on my own. I'll turn myself in if I have to, but I won't let Harry get hurt for some Prophecy."

"Harry must stay where he is, he must fulfill the Prophesy!" Dumbledore yelled, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "I care for Harry deeply, Sirius. Make no mistake. But everyone must make sacrifices for the Greater Good. If this will end the War—"

"What War, Dumbledore? Voldemort won thirteen years ago! I want him overthrown, but not if that means Harry has to die!" Sirius roared.

" Even if Harry dies, it says clearly that Voldemort will no longer are being selfish, Sirius!" Dumbledore said.

"Oh, I'm selfish, am I? I'm not the one who kidnapped a child and raised him to kill his own father for my own gain!"

"For the gain of everyone, Sirius!"

"Why Harry? Why can't an adult kill Voldemort? Prophesies don't mean anything, and even if they did, I wouldn't let Harry anywhere near Voldemort."

"Even if he lived?"

"Yes!"

"Why?" Dumbledore asked.

Sirius regarded him coldly. "Because it would mean Harry would have to deal with the fact that he'd killed his father, who really does care for him, in a twisted way. He's already lost Lily and James, you would really put Harry through losing another parent?"

"For the—"

"Greater Good. Yeah, I know." Sirius growled before turning from Dumbledore and leaving the tent.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys, so please don't hate me. The story needed a real plot. It'll make things more interesting. Go ahead and hate Dumbledore, this is something I can see him doing if he was desperate. the prophesy is mine, i'm not a poet, so sorry it's not that good. sorry this is short, i know. the next chapter will be normal length. expect voldie POV!<strong>

**Ok, so if I get 85 reviews by tonight, I'll update again. I'll spend the whole day typing if I have to!**


	10. Chapter 10: Potions and Parselmouths

**Ok, so firstly, sorry I didn't update like promised! I went to bed kind of early. And I felt kind of under the weather yesterday.**

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed! 100 reviews! Wooooo! There were so many that I can't really answer all the questions, so I'll just answer the questions that everyone was asking.**

**Voldemort's not the Headmaster, Snape is. I wanted to keep that part canon because it made sense.**

**Voldemort doesn't tell Harry that he is his son right off because he wants Harry to trust him. In the father/son fics they always tell Harry right off and Harry just magically goes dark or something, it's not realistic.**

**Harry will learn his true parentage around chapter 17.**

**No, people, Harry will not turn Voldemort good. That's about as likely as Harry kissing Buckbeak! One of them will die, that's just the plot. Don't hate me, but I don't want a typical Disney happy ending.**

**Harry doesn't go dark.**

**Oh, and just so you guys know Voldemort doesn't know about the Prophesy either.**

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><p>Chapter 9: Potions and Parselmouths<p>

_Fourth day of term:_

Horace Slugghorn was the Potion's Master. Still. The rotund man had been freaking _Voldemort's_ professor. How _old_ was he? Harry guessed that these thoughts were a bit hypocritical considering he knew Albus Dumbledore, but at least Dumbledore was competent. Harry didn't know how this blundering fool had managed to live this long at all. Or how he was the Head of Slytherin House.

Harry figured he must have some Slytherin quality. Then again, he was such a pushover Voldemort had probably placed him as Head of House to spy on his students. Either way, he was a surprisingly able Potions Professor. A bit clumsy, and definitely taking too much interest in Harry for his liking, but at least he didn't blow anything up.

Slugghorn walked around the room, humming or complimenting students for their work. Once in a while—like when he stepped in front of Crabbe and Goyle's cauldron—he shook his head and began instructing them in a quiet voice. Harry—to his dismay—had been partnered up with Draco Malfoy. The boy was capable is potions, though not gifted, and seemed much more interested in the cauldron than Harry.

Malfoy was just about to start dicing the flobberworms when Harry looked over from where he was stirring the potion counter-clockwise.

"Don't dice them, cut them into strips." Harry said quietly.

"It clearly says to dice them in the book, Potter. Try reading it." Draco muttered.

"I learned this potion last year at Beauxbatons, it works better if you strip them." That was of course a lie. Harry had indeed learned how to make the pain reliever potion last year, at the Rebel Camp. He'd learned to strip the flobberworms after the potion blew up in his face.

As if on cue, a cauldron across the room gave a rumble and exploded.

Harry smirked, "Should've stripped the flobberworms."

Draco began cutting the flobberworms into strips after that.

"Good work, boys! I think I know who my star students in this year are!" Slugghorn said jovially. Draco smirked; Harry tried to reframe from rolling his eyes.

"Now as you all know, this is your O.W.L.s year, so you'll need to work extra hard, especially my Slytherins, I'd like to see all of you here back next year." He winked at Harry.

"Now for homework, I'd like you all to read the chapter on pain relieving potions and choose one to write about. You may not do the one we did in class today. I expect it by the beginning of class on Friday. Two feet, no less!" the class let out a simultaneous groan.

As Harry walked out the door and down the dungeon corridor, he heard an already familiar voice call him.

"Oi, Potter!"

Harry turned around to see Draco Malfoy saunter up to him, taking his time in doing so.

Harry sighed. "What do you want, Malfoy? We have Transfiguration."

"You're in Slytherin . . ."

"Yes, Malfoy. Thank you for stating the obvious."

"No, what I mean is you should . . . do you want to eat with me and the others at dinner tonight?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Harry asked, bored.

"Well it's got to be better than eating by yourself like you have the last few days," Draco answered.

Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look Malfoy, I'm guessing your father has been pushing you to make nice with me, why don't you just tell him no? I know you don't want to be friends with me, and the feeling is mutual."

"I have nothing against you Potter."

Harry snorted.

"Whatever, if you change your mind than you can eat with the other Slytherins and stop acting like a Mudblood." Malfoy sneered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth Malfoy, I know how to wash your mouth out with magic and soap. It isn't fun."

Draco snorted and walked away, his usual haughty air discarded.

Harry shook his head in exasperation.

They were four days into the term, and Harry had already earned a reputation. He was the Dark Lord's ward, the Slytherin who didn't like Slytherin, the new bloke who talked to Mudbloods. Harry was disgusted to learn that the Half-bloods where calling Muggleborns that now.

It was an unwritten rule at Hogwarts that Muggleborns didn't associate with the other students. Harry had tried to talk to Hermione when he'd seen her in the corridor on the way to Charms, but she'd told him rather crudely that she couldn't talk and had rushed off toward the dungeons.

He'd been left in the corridor with several students staring and whispering.

He'd seen Neville as well, the boy on the train who'd thought it was amazing that he'd put Malfoy in his place. The boy—a Gryffindor—had no classes with Harry, but he sometimes saw him in the Great Hall. How Harry wished he'd been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. He didn't care that Gryffindors were treated almost as badly as Muggleborns; no one would dare bother the Dark Lord's precious ward.

He hated it.

No one from the other houses talked to him, except for a few Ravenclaws that asked if he'd like to borrow their notes. The Slytherins swarmed him like a celebrity, asking for help in their classes, if he wanted to play Quidditch, and once for his autograph. That first year would be having nightmares for the next month about the murderous look on Harry's face.

The Slytherins weren't quite as sly—or subtle—as he'd expected. Harry was obviously given special treatment. He didn't live in the Slytherin dorms with the others in his year as he'd expected. He'd been given his own quarters off to the side of the common room. They were smaller than the rooms he'd been given at Voldemort's home, but still could've easily fit a year's worth of Slytherin boys comfortably.

The Slytherins didn't seem to resent him for having his own room, but they didn't hide the fact that they would very much like to see it. He kept them out. His room—although unwanted at first—was a sanctuary. It was the one place in the school he wasn't assaulted with questions and he could just be alone.

He wondered if Voldemort had done that on purpose, surely he knew his ward would be a celebrity at Hogwarts. As if being friends with Harry would benefit them. It probably would, but Harry wasn't an easy person to become friends with. Not for the people seeking his 'friendship'.

He was halfway to Transfiguration when he heard the screaming.

He rounded the corner out of curiosity and stopped dead. The students were backed up against the corridor walls, their eyes wide with fear.

There was Hermione, clutching a book tightly to chest, her eyes wide and terrified.

And the giant snake with its raised head and bared fangs. The thing was colossal, the biggest snake Harry had ever seen. Its head was diamond shaped, so Harry knew it had to be poisonous. And it didn't look happy to see Hermione.

Before he could justify his actions or allow logic to register in his mind, he was in front of Hermione. He could feel her ragged breath on the back of his neck.

"You alright?" he whispered, not moving his lips in fear of provoking the snake. He felt a "yes" breathed on the back of his neck.

He kept his eyes on the snake, not sure what to do. _Great job, Potter. You've killed us both. _He berated himself. But as he stood there the snake lowered its head and flicked its tongue in his direction. Then to his surprise, it spoke.

"_Young ssspeaker, Nagini'sss Massster wishesss to speak with you."_

Harry inhaled sharply. _"Nagini? Isss that your name?"_

For some reason Hermione inhale sharply and went rigid behind him. Too nervous to take his eyes of the snake, Harry ignored her.

"_Yesss. Massster sssent Nagini to find the young ssspeaker."_

"_And I'm guessing that Voldemort isss your massster?"_

Nagini hissed angrily and Harry repressed a flinch.

"_You are not worthy to ssspeak Massster'sss name!" _Nagini reared back threateningly.

"_Sssorry, sssorry! Can you take me to him?"_

Nagini calmed a bit. _"Yesss. Follow Nagini."_

Harry nodded wearily and took a step forward. He felt a hand on his elbow.

"Harry? Where are you going?" Hermione asked in a whisper, concern obvious in her voice.

"It's fine. I think it belongs to Vol-my guardian." He corrected quickly as the snake let out another warning hiss.

"I have to go," he mumbled, turning his head just enough to see Hermione's worried, pale face out of the corner of his eye.

And so the corridor of students watched as Harry Potter was led down the long hallway by the giant snake, until they rounded a corner, and then he was gone.

Harry and the snake—Nagini—arrived at the plain door that Voldemort had led Harry to (more like dragged) and the snake ordered Harry to knock on the door.

Though a bit put out by being ordered around by a snake, Harry did as he was told.

"Enter."

Harry opened the door and warily stepped inside, the snake slithering in after him.

"Sit." Came the next command and Harry had the urge to inform Voldemort that he wasn't a dog. He reframed.

He took a seat in the chair in front of the Dark Lord's desk as he always did, having a feeling that he'd start calling it his chair if he was in here much more.

"So how do you like my familiar, Nagini?"

Harry had guessed that the snake was Voldemort's familiar, he'd seen Fawkes enough to know Dumbledore's familiar and what the animal was.

"She's . . . big."

Voldemort gave him an amused look. "That she is." He said fondly as Nagini slithered up his chair and around the Dark Lord's shoulders. He scratched her head as you would a dog.

"And she _talks_." Harry said after a moment, hoping to God that he hadn't been hallucinating and that he didn't sound like a madman.

Voldemort chuckled. "It's not so much that she talks as that you can understand her."

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you can guess, educated boy like you."

"She wasn't talking?" Harry asked confusedly.

"She always talks; most wizards just can't understand her. I can . . . and so can you."

"But . . . that would make me . . ."

"A Parselmouth? Yes it would."

"I'm not a Parselmouth." Harry said firmly.

"Then how is it that you understood Nagini and came here?" Voldemort asked, entertained with Harry's obvious annoyance.

"I don't bloody know! But I'm pretty sure I would've realized it before now if I was!"

"Unless it was being repressed."

"It wasn't!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm not a Parselmouth!"

"Alright Harry, you're not a Parselmouth. You speak to snakes in their language, but you aren't a Parselmouth." Voldemort smirked.

"Did you just make a joke?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Yes."

"Stick to torturing people."

"Are you volunteering?"

"NO!"

"Then mind your tone." Voldemort said commonly.

Harry glared.

"I didn't have you summoned here to fight about my sense of humor—"

"Or there lack of," Harry said cheekily.

Voldemort continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"I want you to stop being so . . . unapproachable to your fellow Slytherins."

"This again?"

"Yes, because it hasn't sunken in yet."

"I don't need to be friends with anyone."

"That is not health for someone of your age to say."

"Fine, I'll eat with Malfoy at dinner tonight, happy?"

"Yes."

Harry growled.

"Get out of my office, you're missing class." Voldemort said with a wave of his hand.

"Nice seeing you too," Harry grumbled as he pushed himself out of the chair. He left without another word.

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><p>So at dinner that night Harry would be seen sitting with Draco and the other Slytherins instead at the edge of the table he usually occupied.<p>

Harry was glad when dinner was over.

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><p><strong>So that was kind of a filler chapter, sorry. I really need to get Voldie back in character; I think I'll have Harry do something to really make him mad. Any ideas? He's just to ooc, more than I want. He needs to show his cruel side, at least for a few chapters.<strong>

**So help me with that, guys!**

**Again, sorry I didn't update as promised, I was feeling under the weather.**

**Also, I'm looking for a beta. If you want to help me out and be my beta, PM me! My friend might end up doing it, but still PM me if you're interested.**

**And thanks to aringle42 for being my 100****th**** reviewer . . . and my 99****th****, and my 98****th****, and my 97****th**** . . . lol. Thanks!**

**Anyway, bye guys. I honestly don't know when I'll update next, maybe Sunday.**

**-Ginny**


	11. Chapter 11: Duelling in the Great Hall

**Hiya guys! Happy Easter! **

**I don't really feel like answering question, so . . .**

**On to the story!**

**I own Harry Potter, that's obviously why I'm on FanFiction**

**Warning: swearing (teenagers will be teenagers), mentions of sex (nothing explicit, just Harry getting mocked)**

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><p>Chapter 11: Dueling in the Great Hall<p>

It was all over Hogwarts that Harry Potter was a Parselmouth by the next day. The news spread so fast that Harry had to wonder if student had nothing to do other than gossip with each other and ogle him in the he went there were curious eyes following him, whispers ghosting past his ears only to stop as soon as they thought he was within hearing distance.

The news that he'd saved the Muggle-Born Hermione Granger spread just as quickly. The talk of this was much less friendly. Whereas being a Parselmouth was looked upon as a gift since the Dark Lord's rise to power, defending a Muggle-Born was unheard of. The Slytherins often made crude comment, though never to his face, of course.

It was even worse for Hermione.

She'd taken to avoiding him when at all possible, and when she couldn't her side of the conversations was strained and a bit cold. The tentative friendship between them seemed to have reduced to nothing in front of Harry's eyes, and he was sorry for it. He'd tried apologizing, but she always ignored the apology and insisted that she wasn't angry. And maybe she wasn't, but she didn't want to be anywhere near him anymore.

"Hermione, I'm sorry! I was just trying to help—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for Harry. I just don't think this is going to work out. You're the bloody ward of the Dark Lord, and I'm just a rebellious, good for nothing Mudblood." She shot back in a whisper. Harry had waited for her outside McGonagall's classroom, pulling her into a deserted classroom nearby.

"Don't call yourself that." He said firmly.

"Yes, Your Highness." She said mockingly, bowing low with a role of her eyes.

"What?"

"Oh, come on Potter. You can't be this thick. You're the Ruler of Britain's ward, and considering you're a Parselmouth, you're probably related to him somehow. You are basically royalty; you can't be seen with Muggle-borns."

"You think I care? I never asked for any of this to happen, I'm just trying to make friends!"

"Well you can't be friends with me!"

"Why not!" Harry asked, nearly yelling now.

"Because I don't want to be friends with you! So why don't you just take a hint and bugger off!" Hermione yelled back. With that she stormed off.

Harry sighed as he took his usual seat at the edge of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. He'd gone back to sitting in solitude, shooting a glare rival to Headmaster Snape's at anyone who even considered sitting next to him.

He reached for his glass of pumpkin juice and accidently knocked it over with the wide sleeve of his robe. He swore under his breath and grabbed his wand from his back pocket to clean it up.

He hated wearing robes.

At the Camp, no one wore robes. They had a lot of muggle dealing to bring supplies into the Camp, so they figured they might as well dress like muggles. What use were robes to you in a fight, other than drama and to trip over the hem of your cloak.

Harry had grown up wearing muggle jeans or sweats, tee shirts and jumpers. Not stupid robes. He much preferred muggle clothes. Les hazardous with so many open flames around.

It was another reminder of how different his life was now, and how prejudice Wizarding society could be. They were stuck in the Middle Ages using quills and torches fixed to the walls because they couldn't admit that muggles had good inventions too.

Home had been a mix of Wizarding and Muggle society. They dressed like muggles, fought like wizards. They incorporated both, and this strictly Wizarding society was strange and confusing to Harry.

He was pulled from his musing from a rather unpleasant, sadly familiar voice.

"Oi Potter, have fun fucking your Mudblood girlfriend, did you?"

"Not in the mood, Malfoy."

"I'll bet she appreciated it, it'll be all she ever gets unless she goes back to the muggle world where she belongs."

Harry turned, his face perfectly emotionless.

And promptly decked Draco Malfoy in the face.

There was a sickening crunch signaling that Malfoy's nose was broken. Harry glared down at him for a moment, not caring about the fact that every eye in the Great Hall was now trained on them. Harry, standing over a bloody nosed Malfoy.

Harry turned and started towards the door leading to the Entrance Hall.

And suddenly from behind him . . .

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

"_PROTEGO!" _

Harry turned back to see Draco, looking quite shocked and paler than usual. In front of Harry shimmered the familiar shield from the Protego charm. And Hermione was standing in the corner of the great Hall with the other Muggle-Borns, her wand raised protectively towards Harry.

Draco's wand hung limply at his side now, his face still chalky, anxiety shining in his pale grey eyes.

Hermione cancelled the shield charm and lowered her wand slowly to her side.

"Well, wasn't that . . . entertaining. All three of you to my office. Now." The Headmaster said in a deadly calm voice. Both Hermione and Malfoy flinched at his tone, Harry just glared at his feet.

All three of them shuffled out of the Great Hall slowly in the dead silence, every eye trained on them in disbelief.

Once they were out of the Great Hall, Harry gravitated hesitantly towards Hermione, who was shooting him furtive looks.

"Thanks," Harry whispered. "For, you know . . ."

"Yeah . . . Thanks for standing up for me, I guess. You didn't have to, I'm used to it."

Harry gave her a pained look.

"That's why I had to do it." He said shortly.

They walked in silence for a while.

"So . . . are we cool?"

She gave him a small smile. "Yeah, we're cool."

"So you maybe wanna skip dinner tonight? I need to work on my Transfiguration essay, we could work on it down by the lake?"

"Assuming we all get out of this alive, sure."

Harry chuckled darkly.

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><p>Harry sat anxiously in his chair, fidgeting.<p>

The Headmaster's office was as daunting as the man himself. Somehow he managed to make the office dank and dark as a dungeon, with odd _things_ in jars along shelves on the wall. Harry was hoping Snape didn't need any human organs for potions at that point. He wasn't the Potion Master for the school, but he was the Dark Lord's personal Potions Master.

He was fixing them with his worst glare.

"Which one of you would like to explain why Mr. Potter was nearly killed in the Great Hall today?" his tone was sharp and sarcastic, cutting as a blade.

"Uncle Sev, he—" Draco began in a whining voice.

Snape turned his glare solely on Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, we are in a professional setting, and a serious situation. You will not address me as your Godfather, but as your educator. Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir." Draco mumbled.

"Five points from Slytherin for disrespect."

Draco ducked his head, ashamed.

"Well, Mr. Potter, perhaps you could clear up this situation for us?" his tone has dropped about fifty degrees and Harry's head darted up, surprised at the look of icy contempt in his eyes.

"He was insulting me."

"So you degraded yourself by resorting to muggle means and hitting him." Snape sneered.

"Better than sending a dark curse at him while his back was turned." Harry hissed.

Snape was about to answer when a smooth voice from the doorway said, "I quite agree."

Snape dropped to his knees, as did Draco and surprisingly Hermione. They all mumbled "My Lord"s at him and Harry just turned in his seat and glared.

"However, I believe it was your . . . friend he was insulting." the Dark Lord sneered.

"It was both of us."

"And it never occurred to you to settle the matter in your common room, instead of the Great Hall."

"No, sir."

"I see, well that was a very Gryffindor thing to do," Voldemort sneered. He strode forward and grabbed Harry's jaw, forcing his head up at an uncomfortable angle.

"Perhaps I have been too easy on you, Harry. Perhaps you need punishment to learn your place." He hissed into Harry's ear.

"I already live with you, there's no worse punishment." Harry hissed back.

Voldemort let go of his jaw and before Harry could process what Voldemort was doing the Dark Lord's hand smacked viciously across his cheek, snapping his head the other way. Harry stared in shock at the man in front of him, his hand slowly coming up to prod his cheek; it came away bloody from Voldemort's ring slashing across his skin.

In all of the time he'd been forced into the company of the Dark Lord, it had never occurred to him that Voldemort would hit him. The man that had tortured thousands, killed hundreds, and it had never occurred to him that the man would hit him. He felt stupid.

Voldemort's face was carefully emotionless, but Harry could see the anger burning under the mask of calm. The Dark Lord turned back to Snape. Harry had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. His face burned with the impact of the hit and humiliation.

"You may rise, Severus."

The Headmaster slowly got to his feet, sending Harry a wary look, his eyes widening slightly at the angry red slash across his cheek and already blackening bruise before schooling his face into impassiveness.

"As Headmaster, you have authority over your students, however I wish to make a suggestion for punishment."

"Of course, My Lord." Snape said.

"It seems that this problem arose when my ward befriended Ms. Granger. Expel her."

"What?" Harry yelled.

"Be silent Harry, you are already in enough trouble as it is." Voldemort hissed.

"No! You can't expel her! She didn't do anything! She saved me from that curse! You _can't_ expel her." the last part came out almost a whisper, his eyes pleading.

"She befriended you, which is not appropriate—"

"No! She didn't want to be my friend. I kept bothering her about it. She tried to tell me, I wouldn't listen. If you're going to expel anyone, it should be me."

"You would give up your spot at the most prestigious magic school in the world for a Mudblood?" Voldemort sneered.

"She didn't do anything. Please, sir. I'll be good! I'll sit with the Slytherins and I'll do what you tell me. Hell, I'll even apologize to Malfoy! Just please don't expel her because of me."

Voldemort searched his face appraisingly. "Fine."

"Thank Y—"

"But you are forbidden from having any contact with her. If you violate this rule, she'll be expelled and I'll pull you out of Hogwarts and have you privately tutored."

Harry was about to argue, but stopped. "Yes, sir." He mumbled, head bowed.

"And you will share detention with Mr. Malfoy. For a month."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Malfoy, you are on probation. Be happy you haven't been expelled."

Draco nodded, still kneeling on the floor. "Thank you, My Lord."

Voldemort turned his still angry gaze to Harry once more. "Follow me." He almost hissed.

He was livid.

He latched onto Harry's upper arm and dragged him from the office, down the corridor, and into his own office.

He threw him down into the chair, his hands grasping Harry's shoulders painfully.

He leaned down and hissed into Harry's ear.

"We're not done."

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><p><strong>So don't hate me for the cliff hanger, I just had to. It called to me. I'll probably update next weekend, I'm sadly back in school, so none during the week.<strong>

**I'm putting up a poll on whether you guys want Snape to be loyal to Voldemort or a spy for the light. So vote!**

**Review! And thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers.**

**-Ginny**


	12. Chapter 12: Azkaban

**Surprise! Are you guys surprised I updated? I am! My dad got off work early, so I can use the computer. Yay!**

**Widar: Actually, there is a reason Harry hasn't figured it out yet. I agree that it would make Harry kind of stupid to have not figured it out with such blunt hints, if there wasn't a specific reason. I don't want to give anything away, but I did include a scene in the prologue that sort of told you why Harry isn't noticing any of the clues. Dumbles did something when Harry was little, remember? And as for Harry finding out ASAP, well that can't happen. For one, I already have everything worked out and Harry can't figure it out until other things have already happened. It's also a major plot point, I don't want to rush it. I'm an author, I'm particular about my story, and how I want it to go.**

**Thank you, honestly, so much to my other reviewers for the positive feedback. Very many laughs and "aaahhh!"s due to you guys! You made me want to update instead of be lazy and watch TV. **

**warning: some may find content disturbing**

**I don't own Harry Potter, because if I did, this would be canon :)**

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><p>Chapter 12: Azkaban<p>

_Voldemort turned his still angry gaze to Harry once more. "Follow me." He almost hissed._

_He was livid._

_He latched onto Harry's upper arm and dragged him from the office, down the corridor, and into his own office._

_He threw him down into the chair, his hands grasping Harry's shoulders painfully._

_He leaned down and hissed into Harry's ear._

_"We're not done."_

Harry sat still as a statue, afraid that if he allowed himself to move, he'd shake like a leaf in the wind. Voldemort was still leaning over him, angry crimson eyes burning into his own. In this position, Harry had no trouble seeing how this man had come to power. Through bloodshed and politics. He looked savage. His normally neat black hair was sticking up (which would have been funny in any other situation), his face was pale, every line drawn in anger. His eyes were almost glowing with power, as if his magic was feeding off the anger.

Harry, on the other hand, looked carefully blank.

This angered the Dark Lord. _Why didn't the child ever show emotion?_ Children weren't supposed to be so good at hiding what they were feeling; they were supposed to have it written clearly all over their innocent faces. But Harry wasn't innocent. Voldemort didn't know if he ever had been. He'd grown up in a training camp, basically, a training camp to fight him.

To Harry it would seem perfectly normal for a friend or trusted adult he'd known his whole life to come home injured or not at all. He'd grown up in the no nonsense environment of a war camp. Unlike Britain's naive, innocent, _sheltered_ children.

The Dark Lord was used to those children. When they were taught at a young age to bow at his feet and worship the ground he walked on, if they were lucky enough to see him in person at all. But Harry didn't bow to him; he didn't take his word as law, and he didn't see it as an honor to be near him.

He didn't expect the boy to kneel at his feet, but he wanted respect. But how to get the boy to respect him? The boy that would rather be tortured than do as he's told.

Harry was still staring at him with those big green eyes, Esella's big green eyes. The boy wouldn't be cowed. Here he was, a fifteen year old boy, staring right back into an angry Dark Lord's eyes. It was amazing the boy wasn't in Gryffindor. Though he had contempt for Godric Gryffindor's house, it was not for their bravery. He respected bravery and even admired it. But the Sorting Hat seemed to mistake rashness and stupidity for bravery a lot. Charging into a situation without prior thought isn't brave, it's idiotic.

But he was sure his son would have been a true Gryffindor. He's he made rash decisions, yes, but he's also put other's needs before his own. Voldemort wished he wasn't so selfless. He'd get himself killed. But he was a Slytherin too, so he obviously had some cunning.

Getting back at hand, he had a teenage boy to discipline. Oh, dear God.

"Why do you feel you must provoke me at every opportunity?" he hissed.

Harry decided he wasn't going to answer.

"Answer me, boy!"

Harry's temper flared. "I didn't ask for this situation!"

"You make things worse for yourself. I won't tolerate disrespect."

"I don't give respect to those who don't deserve it," Harry growled back.

"Watch your tongue, boy. Or I'll—"

"Hit me again?" Harry said darkly.

Voldemort hissed furiously and grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him up. Harry yelped and rose on his own. Voldemort's grip moved to the boy's upper arm and he clamped on, hard enough to bruise.

He dragged Harry over to the fireplace, threw some floo powder into the flames, yelled their destination, and stepped into the flames, dragging a protesting Harry with him.

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><p>Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and straight to the floor. The floo always made him feel nauseous. He pressed his forehead against the abnormally cold stone floor. Voldemort stepped gracefully from the fireplace after him, somehow not getting a speck of soot on his robes.<p>

"Are you planning on lying there the whole day? The dementors may think you're a prisoner."

Harry's head darted up. "Dementors? Are we . . ."

"In Azkaban, yes."

Harry was on his feet again instantly, shivering slightly at the strange chill that permeated the room. He looked warily at the Dark Lord.

"Why are we here?"

Voldemort stepped close again. "I'm going to show you exactly what happens to those who don't respect me." He said in a low, cold voice. Harry couldn't help the tremor that raced down his body as his blood ran cold.

The prison was Hell.

The dementors chill kept Harry uncomfortable, stabbing at his soul through clothes and skin alike. The place was absolutely filthy. Grime covered the walls, along with dried blood and other things Harry didn't want to think about. The whole prison seemed to be covered in ice, the salty spray blowing strongly in his face. The prison was on a God-forsaken island made of damp grey stone and sharp black rocks edged the beaches.

But it wasn't the icy spray hitting his face, nor the filth that ran freezing fingers up his spine.

It was the prisoners.

Their cells were small and even filthier than the corridors. Though it would be freezing even without the dementors looming, they wore only as much as decency needed, hanging off their thin, gaunt bodies.

On the bottom levels of the prison, where the low level prisoners and new comers were held. There was screaming and hysterical crying, skeletal hands grabbing at him through the bars, or at his clothes, begging for release and mercy. Some of the hands were bloody, their wrists cut. Harry recoiled violently, his breathing quick and raspy. Despair radiated from the cells on either side of him.

As they ascended through the levels it became worse. The hysterical screams subsided into heartbroken sobbing and then silence. Silence that was heavy and pressed on Harry's chest. He wanted to leave this place. This place of horrible despair and evil. Even criminals didn't deserve this.

The worst were the top levels.

There was no crying here. No screaming. No self-mutilating. Only skeletal bodies and empty eyes. These people had been lost long ago.

Harry stopped at the end of the corridor, peering into a cell with a rather small figure with blond hair and brown eyes. Unlike the others in the level who stared blankly into space, this boy was smiling. His eyes were glazed and empty, but he smiled. He was quietly humming to himself, rocking slowly back and forth on his small cot.

It was hard to be sure, but Harry was. He looked so different, his face almost a yellowish color and his teeth rotted black. Painfully thin. But Harry still recognized him after all those years.

It was Ernie Macmillan.

He'd never really liked Ernie; he'd been a bit arrogant and fancied himself smarter than everyone else. But he had been in many of the same lessons when they were small, as they were the same age. They'd even been paired up a few times.

But one day Ernie took a walk with his mother and never came back.

His mother had accidently strayed from the boundaries of the Camp, Ernie along with her. And they'd been captured. The Camp had been forced to move, and that's when Voldemort's men attacked. His parents had died because of Ernie's mother, though he'd never blamed her.

But Ernie was still alive, here, in Azkaban. And he was utterly insane.

It became too much, even for Harry. He'd known this boy. He'd mourned him.

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

Harry couldn't breathe, it was so cold.

And then he heard his mother screaming again. And once more he was in that concrete room next to his sobbing mother and dead father. The scary man raking his eyes over Harry hungrily.

"No . . ." he whimpered. He felt his knees buckle and through a thick fog heard Voldemort asking him what was wrong. Funny, he'd forgotten the man was there at all.

The screaming became louder and he wondered dimly if he was screaming too. His mother was screaming in pain, his father was somehow screaming too, though how Harry didn't know. He was already dead.

Both of them were.

Oh, God. His parents were dead.

His parents were dead . . .

Harry let the darkness take him.

Voldemort watched as Harry's knees buckled.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

And suddenly the dementors converged. They came like demons from the shadows, crowding around his son. Harry began screaming.

Voldemort closed his eyes. He hadn't been able to create a Patronus in years, not since . . .

But Harry was alive. He was alive and healthy and _here._

The Dark Lord concentrated on these thoughts, on the joy he'd felt when he'd read the results of the Identification Potion. On Harry as a baby, giggling and calling him "Daddy".

With a small smile he yelled, "_Expecto Patronum!"_

A silvery snake shot from his wand and toward the dementors who were eagerly congregating around Harry's prone form. The dementors fled in the company of the ethereal snake. It slithered over to Harry, turning back to Voldemort and flicking its tongue at him. Careful to keep the dementors at bay with his Patronus, he knelled next to Harry. The boy had stopped screaming and lost consciousness at some point.

Why had the boy had such a strong reaction to the dementors? What had happened to Harry that left such horrible memories? Why had he been so interested in the prisoner in that cell?

All questions for another time.

Harry needed medical attention . . . and loads of chocolate.

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><p><strong>So there is chapter 12. I had a bit of trouble with this chapter, I won't lie. I don't know if that's a realistic example of insane people act, and I wasn't trying to offend anyone! I swear.<strong>

**Sorry, it's kind of short.**

**So anyway, review. Expect something this weekend.**

**I love you all :)**

**-Ginny**


	13. Chapter 13: Not Broken

**Sicily Zane****: thanks, I appreciate it (love you!) p.s., this is my best friend, it's not weird :P**

**C.H: Esella's a very minor character as of the moment, I couldn't really go very deep into her character in less than 500 words**

**Almanera: I'm going for bonding :) doesn't worry, Voldie won't keep Harry and Hermione from being friends, and it's too much fun to write. Draco's an ass, but I have plans for him. Neville will also have a bigger part later, and Harry will find the Marauder's Map soon enough.**

**The Parallel Universe: Voldemort and Harry bonding in this chapter, hopefully it'll cheer you up!**

**Amanda2308: Voldemort didn't mean to do that to Harry, he didn't know Harry would react like that. Yes, he went a bit soft when Harry passed out. It would have been contradictory to my version of Voldemort if he didn't care that Harry reacted so violently to the dementors, since he care about his son :)**

**I don't really feel like answering more questions, but thanks for all of the outstanding reviews! I love you all!**

**Sorry my update is so late; life has a personal vendetta against my writing schedule.**

**Don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Chapter 13: Not Broken<p>

Harry woke feeling stiff and cold. He groaned as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes blearily. When had he gone to bed? It took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his room at Hogwarts. He was in his room (wing?) at Riddle Manor. Voldemort's house. Harry groaned again. Why was he _here_?

And his answer popped into the room. Literally.

Tibby hopped from foot to foot excitedly as he squeaked out, "Young Master, Young Master! Tibby is so happy you is awake! Tibby was being so worried, sir! Yes he was! Tibby and Master was worried!"

"Tibby," Harry sighed, his voice rough and his throat sore, "Do you know how I got here?"

"Yes, Little Master! Yous is being sleeping sir, and Master pops in with you in his arms! Master orders Tibby to watch over Little Master while he gets healer, sir. Little Master was having bad dreams and wouldn't wake up. And so Tibby stayed with Master Harry!"

"But why would I need a—oh!" and then the events of Azkaban hit him. How had he just then remembered? He shivered at the memory of seeing Ernie like that, completely insane. Everything after that was a blur. Dark cloaks, scabbed hands grabbing at him, a bright light (a Patronus?), and a concerned voice. Darkness. Fear.

He been trapped in his worst memories, forced to watch his father die and hear his mother scream. Again. He subconsciously recoiled from those memories and pushed them back into the deepest corner of his mind. He knew it wasn't healthy, but he couldn't face those memories. The last time he'd tried, it had nearly broken him.

Harry wanted to be angry with Voldemort.

But he couldn't get past the concern in his voice as he'd called his name. Genuine concern. Harry trusted his instincts and they told him the Dark Lord hadn't expected Harry to react so violently to Azkaban. He hadn't meant to cause Harry the pain of reliving his parent's deaths.

And then there were the times he'd been floating between consciousness and sleep, he vaguely recalled the Dark Lord's presence. Not speaking, not trying to calm him down in his half-conscious delirium, but just there. He thought he remembered a hand occasionally grasping his, or squeezing his shoulder, or once running through his hair after he'd screamed his throat raw.

And he'd felt comforted.

As small flashes of hectic memory returned to him he realized he been conscious—or at least semi-conscious—enough to know for certain that he hadn't left his side until the fit passed. He'd had them a lot after he'd been delivered back to the saftey of the Camp's arms. Poppy had ensured him that he was still perfectly sane, and that his fits were a reaction to the traumatic experience. But he hadn't been sure he was completely stable. He'd suffered from disturbing visions and nightmares, panic attacks, catatonia, and violent mood swings.

Poppy conceded that he had some mental trauma, but he wasn't dangerous to himself or others.

But he noticed how Sirius and Remus always seemed to be near and how the children shied away from him. How the adults looked at him in pity, but there was always suspicion as well. They encourage their children to be polite to him but not to befriend him.

"_He's not stable sweetie, you never know what he'll do. Don't set him off, he might have a fit or something and hurt someone." _

And other kids had been cruel, of course, they were children. Call him a retard or worse, sneer at him when he couldn't concentrate during lessons, whisper about how he'd probably blow up the Camp if he wasn't kicked out.

"_Hey, retard! You going to have a fit because mummy and daddy are dead? Are you going to go off your rocker and attack someone? They should just put you down, you're completely useless. I don't know why Dumbledore lets you stay."_

But those kids didn't bother him. They were all arrogant asses who could walk off the Astronomy Tower in his opinion. It was the sad pitying looks that he couldn't stand. He hated being thought of as weak. He hated those people who spoke to him as if he was a fussy two year old with the flu. Who looked at him as if he was worse than dead.

"_Such a shame, he was so bright before Lily and James . . . you know. He could've been great, if he'd been affected less."_

They thought that he didn't hear them, or that he didn't understand. But he understood just fine. And he hated them for thinking he was weak. That he was broken. _I'm not broken. I'm not._ He'd told himself that so much. Drilled it into his head until he actually believed it.

He'd thrown himself into his studies, become top of the class. He pushed back the hateful feelings and pretended everything was normal. He started talking to people other than Sirius and Remus. Ron and the Weasleys had opened back up to him quickly, Fred and George joking that they'd gone off their rockers long ago and weren't ones to judge. Ron had taken longer, but he'd come around. Ginny had never closed off, always armed with a smile and open-minded attitude.

Sirius had been ecstatic, not realizing there was anything wrong. He'd thought Harry had finely accepted things and moved on. He didn't understand that Harry had done the worst thing possible and locked it all away. That he was never genuinely happy and a lot of the time he was fighting off panic attacks or escaping to his tent and dealing with it in private.

Remus knew something was wrong but didn't want to push Harry before he was ready to talk. But he would talk. That had ended in Harry eternally avoiding Remus and telling him everything was fine when he couldn't evade the werewolf.

Eventually he'd been forced to open up and work things out. And eventually it got better. The night terrors and visions halted, the panic attacks lessoned and stopped, and the mood swings were less noticeable. He hated Sirius and Remus for making him talk, but he was grateful, deep down. He couldn't deal with it alone anymore, and he didn't want to.

He kept at the top of the class in his lessons and everyone still thought of him as fragile or that he needed to be fixed. But he didn't care.

He wasn't broken.

He snapped back to reality when he realized he was being shaken gently.

Tibby was hopping from foot to foot, nearly hysterical. His eyes focused on the unfamiliar man in front of him. He looked young, in his late twenties, with sandy hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in green healer's robes. He was looking at Harry with concern, but smiled reassuringly at him when the green eyes focused on him. He removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and took a step back.

"Hullo, Harry. My name is Richard Montague, I'm your healer." He offered his hand to Harry, who looked at it for a moment before shaking it hesitantly.

"That name sounds familiar, Montague." Harry said.

Healer Montague chuckled. "My younger brother Graham is in your house, he's a seventh year."

"Oh," Harry said.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said automatically.

Healer Montague gave him a stern look.

"My throat hurts, and I'm a bit cold." Harry amended.

The Healer nodded as if he expected this and picked something up off the nightstand. A chocolate bar.

"Here, eat this. It will help with the coldness."

Harry looked at it suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned. The Dark Lord bought it himself to make sure." The Healer told him, he didn't look offended.

Harry looked at it more suspiciously.

The Healer sighed and took it, broke off a piece and ate it, then handed it to Harry. "There, see? Not poisoned. Now eat it, it will help."

Harry obediently took a bite and closed his eyes briefly and laid his head against the headboard. The chocolate did help. He felt the warmth tingle in his fingertips like when he picked up his wand.

Healer Montague chuckled again.

He pulled something from his robes pocket.

"Here, take this as well. It will get rid of your sore throat."

Figuring Montague would have killed him by know if that was his intent, Harry downed the vile tasting potion. It burned his raw throat going down and he winced.

"Where's . . . the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, using his official title.

"He stepped out just before you came to, I believe he said he needed to make some arrangements with the Headmaster."

"Why?" Harry asked. His throat was starting to hurt again.

"You'll be taking a few days off school, you had a rather severe reaction to the dementors and you're still weak. The Dark Lord thinks you would be vulnerable left in the Hospital Wing, so you'll be staying home for a few days."

Harry forced himself not to flinch at the Healer's use of "home".

"I'm fine," Harry said indignantly. Unfortunately his throat was starting to burn and he burst into a fit of hacking coughs. His throat protested and he ended up spitting blood out of his mouth into a rubbish bin the healer had conjured.

Montague sighed.

"You've stripped your throat raw to the point that it bleeds, you're weak from a dementor attack, and that cough suggests that you're getting sick. Need I go on?"

His throat too painful to speak, Harry shook his head.

Healer Montague eyed him, "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone in your state, but I have other patients to attend to."

Harry made a shooing gesture with his hand, which felt unbelievably heavy.

"All right, well, the house elf is here. Try not to speak if you can, your throat needs to heal. And you can have another potion for that at four, in four hours, understand?"

Harry nodded tiredly and slid down into a comfortable position on the bed. Moments later he turned onto his side and curled up into a ball before drifting off.

Healer Montague watched him fall asleep, making sure the dreamless Sleep potion he'd laced into the potion for hi throat had taken effect. the poor kid deserved at least a few hours of peace from whatever nightmares gripped him when he slept.

It had been horrific to watch the boy while in the throes of a nightmare. Something awful had obviously happened to him when the Rebels kidnapped him. Those monsters had tortured him, if the boy's screaming and pleading were anything to go by.

But Richard was more worried about the fact that the boy had been catatonic when he'd arrived. The elf had popped into his office in hysterics about "Little Master" and that he was "sleeping with his eyes open". He'd allowed the small elf to apparate him straight into the Dark Lord's manor, straight into his ward's room.

The boy had been sitting up in bed, staring blankly forward. He'd tried a number of spells to bring him out of it before he'd lightly shaken his shoulder and (unbelievably) the boy woke up.

He was pulled out of his ponderings by a dark, quiet voice.

"Healer Montague, why are you at my Manor?"

His head shot up at the Dark Lord's words and he quickly bowed before answering.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. Your elf appeared in my office, he was frantic about your ward."

The Dark Lord's eyes were carefully blank. "He is awake?"

"He was. The boy was catatonic when I arrived; it took me several minutes to snap him out of it. He worked himself up too much and fell asleep again after I gave him some chocolate and a healing potion for his throat." Technically true.

The Dark Lord nodded, still blank. "Alright, you are dismissed."

The Healer nodded and bowed again.

"My Lord?" he asked hesitantly.

"What is it, Healer Montague?"

"I would like to run some additional tests on Harry, if that is alright with you?"

"Why?"

"I believe the boy may need counseling. His reaction to the dementors may have been due to a past trauma or the Rebel attack. I wouldn't want him to develop . . . problems because it wasn't addressed to begin with."

The Dark Lord thought for a moment. "No, Montague. I will see if I cannot get Harry to talk to me. I'd rather not have a legilimens getting into my ward's head."

"Yes, My Lord."

"And one more thing, Montague?"

"My Lord?"

"If anyone were to find out about Harry's . . . _problems_, I would be very displeased."

"I would not breathe a word under torture, My Lord."

"I'll hold you to that if Harry loses sleep over it."

"Of c-course, My Lord. Not a word."

And with that, Montague bowed once more and nearly ran down the corridor.

Voldemort went straight to Harry's rooms. Sure enough, the boy was sleeping peacefully, curled up into a ball on his side. It was as if the last twenty- four hours hadn't happened.

But he now knew that something had happened to Harry. And it wasn't the current situation that was bothering him. But he would figure out what it was. Something had hurt Harry._ His_ Harry. And that wasn't ok with him.

He waited for Harry to wake again, eat some chicken broth Tibby brought him, and go to the bathroom before entering the room.

They stared at each other warily before Voldemort asked bluntly,

"What happened to you?"

* * *

><p><strong>So, don't murder me. Harry's problems aren't a main point in the story, just a way to speed up the bonding process a bit. It has no effect on the story other than that. Harry won't go psycho and kill anyone, promise. It has to do with Dumbledore's way of making Harry forget his real parents and rendering him incapable of realizing who his father is.<strong>

**Next chapter: Harry/Voldemort confrontation, bonding, and the highly awaited . . . Harry finds out**

**See you all in a week. Love you all! Review! No flames, please!**

**-Ginny**


	14. Author's Note

**Author's note:**

**Hey, guys. I'm sorry this isn't an update. Truth is I've got really bad writer's block, and a lot stuff going on right now. Expect the update next weekend, I'm really sorry.**

**On another note, I have a new poll up for you guys. This story isn't anywhere near finished, or even half finish. But when it is, I want to know which you would prefer. There are three options.**

**Continue off where I left off on The Seventh Horcrux **

**Rewrite The Seventh Horcrux (it will have the same essential plot, but some events will be different or different from the original)**

**Start my Hunger Games fanfics. **

**Summary: Suzanne Collins never went very deep into Haymitch's games, and I want to. This fanfics will be canon-compliant. I just wanted to go farther into Haymitch's games. **

"_**So Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" Caesar asks me. I give a small, cocky grin and answer, "I don't see that it will make much difference, they'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual." The crowd breaks into laughter. "So I figure my odds will be roughly the same."**_

_**My name is Haymitch Abernathy, I am sixteen years old. I live in District Twelve. I was chosen as one of four tributes from my District sent to the Capitol to compete in the Second Quarter Quell. And all I could think as the ridiculously dress capitol woman called my name was "Oh, **_**hell**_**." I didn't realize how spot on I was.**_

**If you haven't read Hunger Games, you really should, I love it to death! (Pun not intended)**


	15. Chapter 15: Truth Shall Set You Free

**Hey guys, the long awaited chapter is here, try not to hate me too much for making you wait.**

**Oh, yes, I own all of this, that's why I'm writing a FanFiction.**

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><p>Chapter 14: And the Truth Shall Set You Free<p>

Harry's eyes narrowed. He looked drawn and tired but the Dark Lord couldn't find the heart to care at the moment, he cared more about the fact that Harry was obviously hiding something from him and it could be something harmful. So he folded his arms across his chest and raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Come on Harry, out with it. What happened?"

Harry's voice was heavily tinged with sarcasm as he replied, "I'm not supposed to talk if I don't have to, my throat needs to heal."

"Then it's good that I'm not giving you a choice, isn't it? You _do_ have to tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Harry growled.

"I'm your guardian—" Voldemort began.

"I don't give a bloody fuck if you're my guardian, I wouldn't care if you were Merlin reincarnate himself, I'm not telling you anything. It's not your business."

"Language, Harry." Voldemort hissed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Would you just stop?"

"Stop what, exactly?"

Harry's voice was quiet when he next spoke. He wouldn't meet the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. "Stop pretending you care. Stop pretending that we're this picture perfect family. You're not the doting father and I'm sure as hell not your perfect, obedient son."

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that I could care about you, Harry?" Voldemort's words were almost a whisper.

Harry looked up at him, eyes hard. "You're not capable of love, Riddle. You're selfish and possessive. If you care about me it's only because I'm a prize to you. You have an enemy at your mercy, under your damn thumb and you like having the power. Isn't that what it's all about Riddle? Power? What was it you used to say during the War? 'There's only Power and those too weak to seek it'? You have power over me and if I happen to get it into my head that you care, well who does it hurt? Only me, and what do I truly matter to you?"

He was nearly yelling now, unable to keep all the pent up anger and frustration back.

Voldemort's eyes were as cold as ice and his voice was low, dangerous. "You know nothing of what I am capable of, _boy_."

Harry flinched. Voldemort stalked closer and Harry shrunk back in fear, he'd gone too far.

"You know nothing, boy. I lost everything to _your people_. They took my son from me and my wife died in my arms because of Albus Dumbledore and his followers."

"They didn't—"

"How would you know? You were what? Two years old? It wouldn't have been hard to hide from a toddler. You say I'm evil, Harry? Dumbledore took my two year old son from me, that is why I put everything I have into getting revenge on Albus Dumbledore. He took him away." His voice had lost its edge.

"Is that why you wanted me?" Harry's voice shook.

Voldemort tensed, thinking. Should he tell him?

"Because I'm not him. I can't be him."

Guess not then.

"I don't expect you to be. But that's not what we were talking about."

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to tell Voldemort anything that could be used against him, but he felt that he owed him. If he wasn't just acting, then Voldemort had bared his soul to Harry. The boy doubted that anyone else had seen the Dark Lord so . . . vulnerable.

"I . . . lost my parents in a raid on the Camp a few years back; I get nightmares about it sometimes." Harry admitted warily.

"What?" Voldemort said, looking at Harry.

"You asked me what happened that made me react to the Dementors so badly, my parents died."

"Oh."

"It was a raid. Aurors stormed the Camp, my parents stayed back to fight them with a few others while everyone else fled. I hesitated; I didn't want to leave them. I got captured."

* * *

><p><em>They were doing well, holding their own against the Aurors. Harry watched from behind a tent, silently cheering his parents and the others on. His mum's fiery red hair flew around her as she twirled about shooting spells at her three attackers. James was doing well, he and old Mad-eye Moody flinging curses right and left.<em>

_They were going to get away!_

_Harry was yanked up roughly by the arm. He yelped as his arm was twisted behind his back and he felt the tip of a wand digging into the side of his neck. He was pushed forward; the Auror was using him to deflect the wayward spells._

_The man behind him spoke._

"_Drop your wands of the little whelp dies."_

_The Rebels spun around to stare at the scene before them._

"_Harry!" Lily screamed._

_The other Aurors looked slightly uncomfortable._

_James spoke. "This fight is between adults, let him go."_

"_Is he yours? He's so small, looks so easy to break." The man roared a foreign spell just as Lily and James yelled a 'no!'_

_Pain exploded in Harry's arm and Harry cried out, tears welling in his eyes._

"_Come on, Rob, he's just a kid. Let 'im go." Surprisingly it was another Auror that spoke up. He looked at the Auror holding Harry imploringly._

"_Why? He's Rebel Scum."_

"_Rob—"_

"_I'm in charge here! Now tie up the scum and get the back to base. If any of you so much as flex a toe without being told to, I'll kill your little runt." He directed at Harry's parents._

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><p>"It's my fault. If I hadn't stayed back they would've been fine. They would've gotten away." Harry whispered, he didn't realize he was crying until he felt the droplet hit his hand. He also didn't notice that the Dark Lord had perched himself on the edge of Harry's bed, giving the raven haired boy some space.<p>

Harry kept speaking, he couldn't stop now that he'd started.

He told Voldemort of how Moody had escaped, how he'd heard the Aurors torture his parents for information. Of how the one Auror that had stood up for him in the clearing near the Camp would blindfold him, telling him it was better that he didn't watch. His name had been Darren,he had blue eyes, harry remembered that about him. Blue eyes like Dumbledore's. Darren hadn't been there the day his parents were killed. He'd watched his parents be tortured and saw his father die. Harry didn't tell the Dark Lord what Rob had tried to do to him.

* * *

><p><em>"Dad?" Harry shook his shoulder gently. There was no response. He shook him harder, even though he knew his father wouldn't wake up.<em>

_Lily was sobbing now. Harry crawled over to her, but was pulled away. He was pinned to the floor, man—Rob—over him. Harry looked at him with wide, terrified green eyes._

_"Such a pretty little boy."_

_That set off the warning bells in Harry's head and he struggled against the man. _

_The man tried to touch him and Harry screamed, a powerful burst of accidental magic fueled by fear ripped through him. The man was sent flying across the dirty concrete room. Harry scrambled up and turned to his mum, frantically yanking at the chains holding her to the wall._

"_Harry, honey, you have to go!" Lily whispered desperately._

"_I'm not leaving you!" Harry cried._

"_Harry, sweetie, mummy's to hurt to run." Lily said, pushing Harry away from her with a foot._

"_I'll heal you," Harry whimpered._

"_Honey, the wounds are to bad, just go. Please Harry go, please go!" she pleaded urgently._

"_I'll make Dumbledore come back for you." Harry promised, hugging his mum tightly one last time._

_Lily couldn't hug back but she rested her cheek atop Harry's messy hair. "I love Harry." She whispered._

"_You too, mum." Harry mumbled before pulling away and with one last glance at his parents he ran for the door._

_He didn't see the blue eyed Auror that watched him go, a small smile twitching his lips. At least Harry had escaped._

* * *

><p>"I somehow ended up right on the border of the new campsite, I think I might have apparated, I was so exhausted I wouldn't have noticed. Sirius found me passed out right outside the Camp's protective wards."<p>

"You lost your parents." Voldemort said quietly.

Harry nodded. "That's why I couldn't let anything happen to Sirius. He's all I've got . . ."

The pain in Harry's voice was so raw.

"He's not." Voldemort said quietly.

Harry looked up at him with those big forest green eyes.

"Huh?"

Voldemort sighed. "Come now, Harry, you're a bright boy. Haven't you seen the clues?"

"Clues?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Surely you've noted the physical likenesses. And in Ollivander's shop?"

_"Your father, on the other hand, favored a yew wand. Thirteen and a half inches. Pliable. Powerful and excellent for virtually any type of magic. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."_

_"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. . ."_

Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. He shook his head, "No . . ."

Voldemort gave him a sad look. "I wanted to wait longer to tell you . . ."

"NO! . . . You—you can't be! I'm not your son."

"Harry . . ."

"No. Leave." Harry growled.

Voldemort produced something from his robe. A piece of parchment.

"I had the Healer do this while you were asleep." He handed Harry the parchment.

_**Harry James Potter**_

_**born**_

_**Hadrian Thomas Salazar Riddle**_

_**Blood adoption instated August 5, 1982**_

_**Adoptive mother- Lily Potter nee Evans**_

_**Adoptive father-James Potter**_

_**Birth mother- Esella Riddle nee Montréal**_

_**Birth father –Thomas Marvolo Riddle**_

"What is this?" Harry asked when he finally looked up.

"A paternity test." The Dark Lord explained

"It's faked then."

"We can do it again now to prove it isn't."

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want it to be true . . . but then he did. It would mean that he wasn't alone here. But the thought that Lily and James Potter weren't his parents hurt like a physical blow. _No, they're my parents even if we aren't __blood related.__ They raised me, not_ him.

_But he wanted too . . . _the traitorous voice in his head whispered.

"Fine," he bit out.

Voldemort nodded and produced a blank piece of parchment.

"I'll need a little bit of blood." Voldemort said, gesturing to Harry's hand.

Harry warily but obediently offered his palm to the Dark Lord. He made a quick cut with a flick of his wand and let the blood drip onto the parchment.

Voldemort pointed the wand at the blood splotched parchment.

"_Paternus!"_

The blood soaked into the paper and formed script on it. Harry picked it up.

The results were the same.

Lord Voldemort was his father.

" . . . Harry?"

"Can you leave, please?" the boy's voice was border lining on desperate.

"Of course, it is . . .a lot to take in."

Harry nodded mutely, still staring down at the paper.

Voldemort sighed and walked slowly over to where Harry sat, clinging to the paper.

He gently plucked it from Harry's stiff grip.

The boy looked up at him.

"Don't stress yourself out over it, you're supposed to rest."

He turned to leave just as he heard Harry whisper to himself. "They aren't really my parents."

He turned back around and walked back to where Harry sat.

"They are still your parents Harry, they loved you." He murmured to the distraught boy. He crouched down so he was eye level with Harry. The boy peered at him from behind his messy black fringe.

"But I thought—"

"I don't know much about parenting, Harry. My father was scum and my mother died giving birth to me, she didn't have the will to stay for me. But James and Lily Potter loved you. Truth be told, I have no idea how to be a father, but I want to try. It's a two way effort."

"You try to be a father and I try to be a good son?"

"Yes."

"I—I don't know. I don't want to-to get hurt again." The boy's eyes pleaded with him to understand. He did, he felt the same way.

"How about this, then? We try not to have a row every time we speak and take it from there?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Ok."

He rose and walked to the door. Just as he began to close it he heard Harry's quiet "G'night."

"Good night, Harry." He answered back.

It wasn't much . . .

. . . But it was a start.

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><p><strong>So what did you think? Yeah I know, they were both really ooc in this chapter, but I wanted the semi-fluffy moment, so sue me (but don't, I'm broke) lol, anyway, review. Sorry about the wait, but at least my writers block is gone!<strong>

**Tell you what, I'm excited for next chapter, so I'm going to write it now. If I get 205 reviews by tomorrow at this time, I'll update!**

**Preview of next chapter: Harry/Voldemort bonding (Harry's condemned to the manor, so that was a given) and a short interlude –possibly Sirius or Draco moment, which do you guys want?**


	16. Chapter 16: The Start

**Hey guys. I'm so, so, so sorry I didn't update! I could give excuses, but I won't. at least it came on Father's Day, most fitting for this chapter.**

**gabriel sebastian Snape: I don't speak French (this is French right?) I'm sorry!**

**one blue sparrow: Harry won't be going dark in this fic, actually. He's neutral, sort of. He kind of works for both sides when he needs to. And as for an announcement, I don't want to spoil that, sorry.**

**Anon: I did say one of them would die, but just bear with me and keep reading. I don't think you'll be disappointed :D sorry about the grammar mistakes, blame my crappy auto-correct that like to automatically change things that aren't wrong and the American high school system for confusing me.**

**Insert pointless disclaimer here. I obviously don't own Harry Potter.**

**Happy Father's Day! Dedicated to all of the awesome dads out there, especially mine ^_^**

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><p>Chapter 16: The Start<p>

The next morning was decidedly awkward. Harry was woken by Tibby—the house elf—and after being informed that he was well enough to leave his bed, had dressed in a set of plain black robes (which he still felt were far too flappy and hard to maneuver in) and was led to the ornate Dining Room of Slytherin Manor. Harry's thoughts were in turmoil. Lord Voldemort was his Father. A cruel, heartless man had sired him. _No, he's not completely heartless, he's just . . . solitary. He doesn't play well with others._ Harry had the urge to laugh. Doesn't play well with others was a bit of an understatement. Total disregard for human life and happiness was more appropriate. And yet that wasn't completely true either. From what Harry had seen at Hogwarts, the students were generally content with Voldemort as their Ruler (excluding the Muggle-Borns, of course). They were all terrified of him, but they trusted him to keep them safe. Wizarding Britain was more prosperous than it had been in the Ministry's era. There was less crime and more money. More Students graduated Hogwarts with multiple NEWTS and had promising futures. Fifth Years did well on their OWLS.

And then there was how the Dark Lord treated Harry personally. He wasn't cruel. He was strict, he expected perfection, but he was reasonable. And there had been time when he was . . . kind to Harry. Like last night. Like the night Harry ran away after the Sorting. Like the first night at Slytherin Manor, when he'd found Harry screaming bloody murder in a broom cupboard. He hadn't asked questions, hadn't pushed, hadn't pried or suffocated Harry with his presence. He'd mostly kept to himself. He'd lost his temper with Harry, sure, but Harry would admit that he'd provoked him every time.

He was a monster.

But he was also capable of being a patient, attentive Guardian.

And maybe even a Father.

Harry couldn't help but feel a little bit like he was betraying his parent's memories by hoping that he could have a Father in Voldemort, but his parents would want him to be happy. Wouldn't they? They would, Harry decided with conviction. Harry had seen a side of Lord Voldemort that he had a feeling not many others had seen. He had seen Voldemort vulnerable. The look of hope in his crimson eyes as Harry agreed to try reminded Harry that under the cruel monster was a man who wanted a relationship with his son. Under that cruel monster, he'd seen Tom Riddle.

Harry took a deep breath before entering the Dining Room, feeling very much the Lion entering the Snake's den, even if he himself was a snake. The Dark Lord was sitting at the head of the table as before, the chair to his immediate right was the only other with a place setting. It made sense that he would sit at Voldemort's right now, being his son. The Dark Lord was the Slytherin Lord and Patriarch, therefore was to sit at the head of the table. Had Esella Riddle been alive, she would have been sitting opposite Voldemort, as the Lady Slytherin and Matriarch. Harry, as Voldemort's only apparent Heir and son, would sit to the Lord's right. Had Harry had a younger brother or a sister, they would have sat to Voldemort's left.

But Harry hardly thought on that. He was quite hungry, not having truly eaten in favor of idly pushing food around his plate at Hogwarts and then there had been the incident in the Great Hall and the dementor attack.

_God, when _was_ the last time I ate?_

The Dark Lord must have been thinking around the same lines as there was a feast set out on the sumptuous table. Voldemort once again surprised him as he entered the room, the Dark Lord gave a small, but genuine smile and a nod of the head. Harry gave a weak smile back. Neither spoke for a moment, Harry stood awkwardly in the center of the doorway, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Morning." He murmured quietly, eyes darting up to regard his father before settling on the floor again.

He seemed to have passed some unidentifiable test, because after a moment the Dark Lord answered.

"Good morning, Harry." His tone was inflicted with a strange, unknown emotion. Possibly pride?

Harry's eyes came up once more to meet Voldemort's.

"Come sit down, Harry. You look like a house elf caught at wand tip." Tibby squeaked behind him.

Harry sat down a bit warily, still uncomfortable in the man's presence.

After another ten minutes of unbearable silence in which Voldemort wordlessly flopped a blueberry pancake onto Harry's plate and gestured for him to eat while Harry wondered how the man knew that blueberry pancakes were his favorite, the Dark Lord broke the silence.

"You should eat that before I have to place warming charms on it."

"sorry," Harry said quietly before taking a single bite and going back to staring at his plate.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Voldemort muttered under him breath before snapping, "I can leave if it will mean you would eat."

Harry flinched, "No! I—I mean, I don't know how to act around you, is all. You don't have to go." He finished lamely.

The Dark Lord humphed. "I'm not going to curse you Harry, just be yourself. I don't even know you." He finished. His tone was bored, but his eyes softened slightly as he appraised Harry.

"Oh—okay." Harry answered meekly. He took another bite of his pancake. Voldemort shook his head, his lips twitched.

They finished breakfast in a more companionable silence.

* * *

><p>Apparently the Dark Lord had decided that since Harry was well enough to be out of bed, he wouldn't be returning until it was time to go to sleep.<p>

Harry spent the whole day with his father. He gave him a tour of the grounds, which were really quite beautiful. There were large gardens that the Dark Lord said Harry's mother had adored, he looked sad as he said that. They moved on quickly. They also visited the Lake, which had its own giant squid, just like Hogwarts. They kept to the fringe of the forest and saw a flock of pegesi and even a unicorn, though they didn't go near it, unicorns usually didn't like boys much, apparently.

They spent lunch by the Lake, Voldemort called Tibby when he wanted the food. It was incredibly awkward at first, and a bit uncomfortable. But as the day went on Harry began to relax. The Dark Lord was very knowledgeable about everything to do with his home, and seemed to genuinely enjoy sharing the information with Harry. Harry swore he showed more emotion in that one day than in all of their previous encounters put together. He grew excited while he shared his knowledge of the Manor and its history. It was nothing as obvious as jumping around, just a slight change in his tone of voice and a light in his crimson eyes that Harry hadn't thought possible before. Harry didn't absorb more of what he said, just listening to his voice and looking out on the grounds that he could see someday becoming his home, glimpsing the man that could, maybe, just maybe, be his father under the cold exterior. Everyone had masks, Harry knew that. He certainly had his. And Harry hoped, he really did, that the cold, uncaring Lord Voldemort was a mask.

Because though Harry could never see himself being Lord Voldemort's son, there was a chance he could see himself as Tom Riddle's.

* * *

><p>Sirius had left the Rebel Camp that day. Ever since he'd been hiding out in the Alsace Forest in France. He was planning. He wanted Harry out of Voldemort's clutches, and to rescue Harry, he'd need a way to get into Britain without getting apprehended. And more so, a way into Hogwarts. he couldn't use his animagus form to get in, the school was now warded against it so students could become illegal animagi like the Marauders had. He also needed a plan for after they escaped. A way out of the country. They could start over. They'd have to somewhere obscure or out of Europe, somewhere Harry or even Sirius himself wouldn't be recognized.<p>

Then there was the matter that Sirius feared the most. Harry was a smart, talented boy. He could beat a full-grown wizard in a duel, cast a Patronus, and even perform some wandless magic, if he was desperate enough. But he was also a child. A child that had watched his parents die and never truly recovered from it. Harry thought Sirius didn't know about his secret panic attacks or how withdrawn he acted, but he did. He was still mourning Lily and James, in the most unhealthy way possible. And now here was his Birth Father, served to him on a silver platter. Harry wanted a family, he loved his godfather, but he was more of a big brother than a father figure, and they just hadn't been as close since the elder Potters' deaths. Sirius was afraid Voldemort would take advantage of Harry's desperate desire for a close relationship with a family member. He was afraid that he would get to Harry, be in a situation to rescue him, and Harry wouldn't want to leave.

Sirius knew that he wouldn't make Harry leave, even though it would be best for him. If Harry wanted to stay, Sirius would just have to find a way to stay with him. But first he had to come up with a plan.

_Hold on Harry, I'm coming._

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy was <em>not<em> a happy camper, as a muggle would put it. He'd been thoroughly tongue-lashed by his father for attacking the Dark Lord's ward. Like it was his fault! Potter was a menace. A smart-mouthed, high-on-his-horse, uncouth, menace. He'd tried to befriend the other boy, but he apparently preferred the Mudblood. Draco would admit he'd gone a bit far in the Great Hall, saying Potter and the Mudblood had done _it _and then attempting to curse Potter, but he'd lost his temper.

He did _not_ feel bad.

He was _not_ sorry.

But his father wanted him to befriend Potter, _still_, even after the Great Hall accident. Draco sighed. He would try, he knew. Even though he'd sworn to his father he was done, he knew in the end he would march up to Potter and apologize like a good little Pureblood, because it was what his father wanted.

The next months would be Hell.

* * *

><p>Voldemort and Harry spent the evening in the library.<p>

The Dark Lord hid a smile as Harry rushed right over to the Defense Against the Dark Arts section, trailing his fingertips against the books' spines almost lovingly, a great grin on his face, eyes lit up in interest and excitement. He remembered doing much the same on his first excursion in the Slytherin Manor Library, though he'd been more interested in Dark Art than how to defend against him.

It nearly made him laugh at how similar and yet how different they were.

They'd made progress today.

If Harry didn't exactly enjoy his company yet, he was no longer dreading it.

He didn't know what had given him the idea to show Harry the grounds. He'd wanted to spend the day with his son, but he was just as wary as Harry was at the same time. But he'd seen Harry smile today, a genuine, happy smile, and that made it easier. Part of him was disgusted with how he felt about Harry, about his need for the boy's happiness was like air to a drowning man. He was disgusted at the warm feeling in his chest when Harry smiled. But that warm feeling was winning. He knew Harry was a weakness, but he found he didn't care.

He looked over at Harry, the source of all his turmoil. The boy was sprawled on the sofa with his head against the arms of it, one leg dangling off the side and the book propped on his chest. The book had slid pages down against his him slowly moving chest. His head lulled to the side, facing the Dark Lord.

Harry's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. He looked peaceful. Voldemort hated to ruin it, but he didn't want the boy on his library sofa all night.

With a sigh he stood and strode over to his son. He shook his shoulder gently, "Harry," he murmured.

Harry's eyes flicked open immediately, fully alert.

"Go to bed," Voldemort ordered gently.

Harry nodded mutely and stood, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Once at the door, Harry turned a bit hesitantly to look back.

"G'night," he mumbled sleepily.

"Good night, Harry. Get a good night's sleep, you head back to Hogwarts tomorrow, and you might be in bed late tomorrow."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

"You have detention with Filch for getting into that fight in the Great Hall." The Dark Lord smirked.

Harry groaned.

* * *

><p><strong>So there's the sixteenth chapter. I liked it, I hope you all did! The votes for a Sirius and Draco interlude were around the same, so I did both. Sorry if Sirius sounds a bit ooc, but here's my logic. Sirius was kind of immature at time in canon, I made mine more grown up because he's more war-hardened then canon Sirius was. Sirius has been fighting for the rebels for around 18 years, so it would make sense that he's more serious. Also, he's been caring for Harry—an emotionally disturbed teenager—for three years now. Sirius has to be the mature adult and be responsible for a child's safety, it would make him grow up a bit. So that's my logic.<strong>

**Again, this is dedicated to all of the Fathers out there, but mostly to mine (sorry, my story, my dad gets seniority) Love you Daddy! (yes, I call him daddy, got a problem with that? I couldn't care less)**

**So . . . review! I honestly don't know when I'll update, it won't be this long of a wait though. If you guys get it up to 250 in reviews, I'll update next weekend. And I really will update, unless I die. Than you guy will just have to mourn (just kidding)**

**Bye!**


	17. Chapter 17: The Marauder's Map

**Hey guy, sorry I haven't updated in forever, I know. The new school year and all that keeps me busy.**

**Saphireanime: thanks, and yes there is Harry/Hermione action in this chapter, but this isn't an H/Hr shipping, just to make that clear, I don't want you to get the wrong impression :)**

**twinraj99: I'm not a Dumbledore basher, but to tell you the truth, I think my Dumbles is pretty in character. He raised Harry to fight Voldemort and eventually die for that cause in canon; he basically did the same here. Yes he took Harry as a baby, but that's just the way it had to be. So again, not a Dumbledore basher, but I don't really sympathize with him either. As for the Hunger Games thing, I love that series and any vague paraphrasing that came from it was unintentional, sorry if it bothered you. And lastly, thanks so much for saying you thought I had a shot a being an actual author, that's what I want to do, so it's nice to hear. (I had a mini meltdown and scared my mom after I read that review. Lol)**

**Sean Mulligan: Yes, Voldemort is a terrible person. Ernie didn't do anything, really, except that he was a rebel (the other reason will be revealed later). I think Voldemort would do that, but I guess that's just my opinion. Voldemort had no part in the torture or near molestation of Harry. They were supposed to take rebels into custody and take them to the Ministry for a trial, and Voldemort didn't even know what had happened to Harry or his parents until Harry himself told him. That Auror/Death Eater was a ****Vigilante****. He wasn't supposed take the law into his own hands, but he did. If you really hate my portrayal of Harry and Voldemort's relationship, no one is forcing you to read this. You clicked on the link knowing this was in the hurt/comfort genre, so there was going to be bonding. And Hermione hasn't been expelled by the way, she got detention just like Harry and Draco. So if you don't want to continue reading my story, that's fine. I can't and won't change what I've already written.**

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed and follows my story, I love you all for the positive feedback.**

**Don't own, will never own, wish I did own, probably better I don't own: Harry Potter.**

**Without further ado, Chapter 17.**

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><p>Chapter 17: The Marauder's Map<p>

Harry was up bright and early the next day. It didn't really bother him; he was used to being up at the crack of dawn for training back at Camp. He dressed quickly in his Hogwarts uniform—Tibby must have snuck in and laid it out for him at some point. Robes were getting easier for him to wear, simply because that was all he _had_ to wear. He'd noticed that Voldemort hadn't allowed him anywhere near the clothes that looked even remotely like muggle attire at Madam Malkin's.

Once done he glimpsed in a mirror, smiling at his hair. It was sticking up exactly the way his dad's—_James'_—hair did. After the revelation that Voldemort was his father had come out, he'd been having trouble thinking of them as his parents. He still loved them, but he felt a bit betrayed. He felt terrible for it, feeling betrayed. The Potters had raised him as their own,_ had_ made him their own through blood adoption, but they had had a hand in his kidnapping. He wasn't angry, just disappointed. Why hadn't they told him? They hadn't honestly thought he'd have run away, had they?

It didn't matter, they were gone. It still hurt to think about, but they weren't coming back. And this was his second chance. He felt so selfish, thinking that. But he wanted things to work out with Voldemort. He wanted to call him dad and feel comfortable with it. But every time he thought this, his mind went back to the raid. Voldemort had ordered the attack. It was his fault.

_Don't be stupid Harry, we're at war. He found out where the Camp was and took advantage; it's not as if the Rebels haven't done the same exact thing many times. You've watched interrogations before, and Moody gets a bit overzealous at times. Both sides have done terrible things, its war. And Merlin knows, Dumbledore is no saint either._

"Master Harry sir, the floo is ready!"

Harry sighed; there was Tibby, ready to send back to Hogwarts. He exited his room and greeted the little elf, allowed himself to be escorted to the entrance hall and the Public floo (not that enough were keyed into the wards for it to actually be public). The Dark Lord was already gone, in his office doing something dictator-ly no doubt. Harry scoffed at his thoughts. From what he'd seen, Voldemort was actually a good ruler. He was fair in most of his laws (with the exception of the laws regarding Muggle-Borns) and did seem to care about the safety of his people.

Harry stepped through the fireplace and, throwing a handful of powder in, yelled, "Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort's office!"

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace in his father's office moments later. Voldemort chuckled as Harry stumbled out, covered in soot.

Harry looked up at him and glared.

"I don't know why I had to use the floo, I could've just went through the door at the manor." He grumbled, dusting himself off.

"You need to practice using the floo network—."

"I know how to use the floo; I wasn't totally deprived of a Wizarding upbringing!" Harry snapped.

"—with _dignity_." Voldemort finished, acting as if Harry hadn't spoken.

Harry 'humph' ed unhappily and plopped into the chair facing the Dark Lord. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"What's got your wand in a knot, then?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"That's another thing I'll need to teach you, you're a terrible liar." Voldemort was amused.

"Isn't lying something a parent encourages their child _not_ to do?"

"Not a good Slytherin parent."

"There's such thing as a _good_ Slytherin parent?" Harry smirked, thinking he'd won. He realized he might have gone too far with that comment at the withering glare sent his way.

Voldemort smirked, "It does come in handy."

Harry snorted rather undignifiedly and was sent another disapproving glare. It felt so natural to be like this, bantering with his . . . father. He didn't know what to call him in times like this, when he acted human and Harry could see himself being raised by this man.

"You had better get going; you're not going to have time to eat if you don't."

Harry nodded, it was a clear dismissal.

He walked for the door and turned with his hand on the doorknob when he heard a throat being cleared.

"No more detentions, Harry. It looks bad."

"Yes sir." Harry mumbled. _Like it was _his_ fault, bloody Malfoy._

Harry waited for more to be said and when nothing was, he opened the door and walked out. "Bye . . . father." he murmured on the way out. His back was turned; he didn't see the slight smile that adorned the Dark Lord's face. Harry had just called him 'father'.

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><p>Classes were a bore, Harry knew the material already. Not only that, but he had to put up with annoying fan girls asking him why he'd been out all week, power-seeking leeches telling he was right to put Malfoy in his place, and just general annoyances. Hermione was avoiding him again, but he wasn't really worried, she was stuck in detention tonight. Malfoy was following him around like a lost puppy, <em>or a very stubborn ferret<em>, Harry thought with a mental snicker. The blonde prat sat next to him in every class, sat next to him a breakfast and lunch, and had all of his little followers sitting with them a supper.

Harry finally snapped.

"For the love of God, what do you _want_ Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked at him calmly. "Nothing. But it's time you started being seen around your fellow Slytherins, you're upsetting the balance of things. And if you won't do that willingly, we'll come to you."

"You're _stalking_ me to save face?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Not just mine, all of ours. Slytherins have always had a united front, we aren't going to disrupt that, even for a lion in snake's clothing like you."

Harry just sighed, they wouldn't be swayed.

"Fine, whatever."

"It doesn't have to be torture for you, you know. Just because Malfoy is a self-righteous git doesn't mean we all are."

Harry looked up. Daphne Greengrass—a pretty girl with wavy brown hair and aptly green eyes in his year—had been the one to speak. She had been one of the few Slytherins that hadn't bothered him. She was smart and popular in the house, and she used it to her advantage, but she hadn't exuded arrogance like Malfoy.

"Oi!" Malfoy yelled.

Daphne looked at him in amusement, smirk firmly planted in place.

Harry sighed.

_Slytherins . . ._

* * *

><p>Harry walked despondently to Filch's office, Draco trailing behind him like an attention starved (annoying, smug) puppy.<p>

"What do you reckon Filch will have us doing? Hanging from the ceiling by our toes?" Draco asked.

Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"I dunno Malfoy, why don't you go ahead and find out?"

"Someone's touchy," Draco murmured in a sing-song voice.

"You are incredibly annoying."

Draco grinned.

"What happened to Pureblood decorum Malfoy? You're acting like a bumbling idiot."

"For your benefit, of course."

"I think I like the stuck up Pureblood persona more, he talks less."

They arrived in front of Filch's door two minutes before detention was due to start. Harry was surprised to see Hermione waiting for them. She rolled her eyes as they approached.

"It's about time you two showed up, you were nearly late! In you go then!" she commanded.

Harry simply raised an eyebrow and Draco sneered. Harry sent him a warning glare, Hermione was off limits in his little Pureblood superiority campaign.

Harry knocked and the door slammed up, revealing a scowling Filch.

"In you get, brats. Oh, how I wish the Dark Lord hadn't restricted whipping!"

They shuffled into the small, cluttered office and stood stiffly, looking around.

"So what do you want us to do, Mr. Filch?" Harry asked, wanting this detention to be over quickly.

"You'll be cleaning my office. Without magic." The man snarled bitterly. It was no secret that Filch was a squib, and being in a school of magical children, it was no wonder why.

Draco looked horrified. "Like filthy muggles?"

Harry sighed, "It won't kill us to do some manual labor, Malfoy."

"Speak for yourself, Potter."

* * *

><p>Fifty minutes later, they were nearly finished. Hermione had taken charge and assigned them sections of the room to clean. Draco, despite all complaints, cleaned his part of the office.<p>

Harry was "refilling" the cabinet of confiscated items, looking for anything worth keeping. Hermione threw him a disapproving look, to which he just grinned back. He wasn't one to miss an opportunity, after all. He'd grown up with Fred and George as surrogate brothers, what did she expect.

He came across a blank, crumpled piece of parchment, his eyebrows furrowed. What use was that? He unfolded it, and was surprised when writing appeared on the parchment, very familiar writing.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are delighted to introduce Prongslet to the Marauder's Map. _

Harry's lips slowly curved up into a smile. Sirius and his father—James—had told him all about their exploits during their school days. The Marauders had created the Map to keep out of trouble with teachers and carry out pranks while at Hogwarts. A rather impressive piece of spellwork for schoolboys.

Harry hugged the piece of parchment to his chest for a moment, his newest Treasure.

A small, sad smile curled his lips as he whispered "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good."_

* * *

><p><strong>So, I'm not happy with this chapter, it kind of sucked, sorry. I've had really bad writer's block, it's just not flowing like it usually does. But I haven't updated in so long, so I just tried to work through it.<strong>

**Thanks for reading, please be kind.**

**No chapter for a while, sorry guys. I'm moving, I'm swamped with schoolwork, and as I said before, writer's block.**

**Until next time, hopefully with more inspiration,**

_**-Ginny**_


	18. 18 This is Halloween, Part 1

**Hi guys, I'm absolutely terrible, I know. At this point most of you have probably forgotten you were even reading this. I don't blame you. My sincerest apologies, it's the usual excuses. Too much schoolwork, too much homework, insane teachers, swim team, and general life. My friends thought it would be an amazing idea to make our costumes from scratch for Halloween last year. We've gender-bended the Avengers, I'm Captain America**** I've also joined two clubs, so . . .yeah. Sorry. **

**Recap of last chapter since I've been gone so long: Harry leaves Slytherin Manor, Becomes forced acquaintances with his fellow Slytherins, serves detention, and finds the Marauders' Map.**

**Guest: yeah I know. In my original plot line Harry's hatred and denial of Voldemort was going to be much more drawn out, but well, I'm a writer and my mind ran away with my story and wouldn't let me have it back. Lol. Anyway, I'm not offended, your point is valid, and I've been criticizing myself on this fact for a while that their relationship grew too quickly. I've been trying to find a way to slow it down a bit, and I think I've come up with a solution for it in this chapter. So tell me what you think after you read it**

**Serafin982: why thank you, I agree. I loved the canon series, but there were some things that just didn't make sense to me, that being one of them. I love writing Tom Riddle; I think he's more interesting than Voldemort because he's more human than Voldemort.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**(Insert disclaimer here)**

**On with the story, then.**

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><p>Chapter 18: This is Halloween, Part 1: Underlying Problems<p>

Over the next month, Harry resigned himself to the Slytherins, deciding to choose his battles wisely. They weren't terrible, once he got past the rather childish prejudice and arrogance that came with Purebloods, he could tolerate most of them; even call a few of them acquaintances. Daphne Greengrass was somewhat annoying, but smart and she lacked the Pureblood supremacy air most Slytherins flaunted. Draco had calmed down as well, though he still took to following Harry around like a lost puppy. Blaise Zabini, an Italian boy who had earned Harry's respect by paying absolutely no attention to his "celebrity status" had also become an acquaintance. Harry ate with them at meals and worked with them during potions, though Slughorn liked to think that Harry could've done all four of their table's work by himself. Harry smiled tightly and assured him that the others pulled their weight just as he did.

He kept in touch with Hermione much the same way Draco did with him, he persisted. She tolerated him, allowing him to study in unused classrooms and even allowed him to help her in a few subjects. She was a bright young witch, but with the Proclamation in place, it was hard to stay on top of her studies. That was one thing Harry couldn't forgive the Dark Lord for; Muggle-Borns were treated so horribly, it was disgusting. Hermione developed a soft spot for him after his rants on how _aggravating_ Voldemort was. He was still confused about his feelings for Voldemort. He accepted that he was the Dark Lord's son. But every time Voldemort did something that started to change his view of the man and the way he ran things, he did something that made Harry regress back to thinking of him as a monster.

Next week was Halloween and all the Purebloods were excited for Samhain. Harry knew what the old holiday was, of course. But like everything else, it seemed, he'd been taught that it was evil. In the old days Samhain was the night that magic-folk hunted muggles and performed rituals. At camp it was something akin to worshipping the devil. But that's not how the Purebloods saw it. They saw it as a day to give back to magic and bask in its almost sentient affection for those who can use it with their family.

That meant he'd be going "home" for Halloween. And he was nervous. Though he was more comfortable around the man then when they first met, he was not completely comfortable around his father. It was still odd to call him that, even nearly two months after finding out. And he couldn't stop the small amount of guilt he felt every time he referred to Voldemort as "father". James Potter would always be his dad. He would remember James as the one who taught him his first spell, the man who plucked him off the ground and took him on his first broom ride. But at the same time he knew Voldemort had _wanted_ to do those things.

So he made the distinction.

Voldemort was his father . . .

But James was his dad.

"Harry?"

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by Daphne, who looked at him in exasperation.

"Huh?" he said eloquently.

She rolled her eyes. "What are you going to wear for the Samhain Ball?"

He looked at her, dubious for a moment.

"Robes?"

"Thank you Potter, for that brilliant answer. But I do believe she was asking exactly _what_ you'll be wearing?" Draco put in with and arrogant tip of his nose.

"I dunno," Harry said, unsure.

"What? You mean you still haven't got your robes? But Samhain is Monday!" Daphne looked appalled.

"There's a Hogsmead day this weekend, we can get him robes there, if the Dark Lord doesn't send some over for him." Draco reasoned, causing a nearly hysteric Daphne to calm.

"Oh I hope he does! You looked so cute when you were first introduced, not that you aren't attractive now," she smirked as Harry went red.

"Daphne!"

Draco looked scandalized.

"What?" Daphne said, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Harry is very attractive, and he's the Dark Lord's ward. Better I get my hands on him then some grubby little power-seeking-gold-digger."

"You're betrothed!"

"So? Betrothals almost never live past seventh year and Goyle is a troll."

"Hey!" they heard shouted down the breakfast table.

"So anyway," Harry said, eager to change the subject, "Are you excited to be seeing your families?"

"I can see my father whenever I want, I just have to write him and he'll come visit." Draco said imperiously.

Daphne rolled her eyes and looked back to Harry. "I'm excited to be going home, yes. I haven't been able to floo call my mum for a while, I've been too busy."

"And you Harry, anxious to see the Dark Lord?" Draco asked, curiosity peaked.

"Well, I've been writing to him . . ."

"That doesn't answer the question, Harry."

"It's just that it's my first Samhain . . . with him. I don't know what to expect. He only took me in two months ago, and I spent most of that time here. I really don't know him."

"No one really knows the Dark Lord. Even my father, and he's his right hand!" Draco said.

"He's fond of you though, I don't think I've seen him react the way he did when you ran from the Great Hall after the sorting." Daphne said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"He hid it well, but we are Slytherins. He was worried about you."

"He was angry with me." Harry discarded.

"He tortures people when he's angry with them, he doesn't put them to bed." Draco scoffed.

Harry blushed.

"Draco." Daphne murmured chidingly.

Harry had to wonder when Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass became true, genuine friends.

* * *

><p>It was Monday, Halloween morning and Harry was surprised when he was woken early, as classes were canceled for the day. He stumbled out of bed, still in his sweatpants and muggle t shirt, and shuffled to the door, throwing it open. He blinked.<p>

"Tibby? What are you doing here?"

The tiny elf rushed forward excitedly and hugged Harry round the middle.

"Master Harry sir! Master has asked Tibby to gets Harry Potter sir for breakfast, sir!"

"Voldemort's here?"

The elf squeaked and hid behind his hands.

"Sorry. The Dark Lord, he's here?" Harry amended.

"Yes Master Harry sir! And he wants his son to eat breakfast with him!"

The elf's eyes widened in terror the same time Harry's did.

"Tiby i-is s-so so-rry Master! T-Tiby did not m-mean to!"

"Tibby it's ok!" Harry shushed him. "No one is around."

Harry closed the door after Tibby popped out of existence and hurried to get ready.

* * *

><p>Harry walked slowly down the hallway from his room to the Slytherin common room, Draco and Daphne taking up their positions at either of his sides. Daphne, the more observant of the two, was looking at him with worry behind her nearly perfect Slytherin mask.<p>

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"Hm?" Harry asked distractedly.

"You look like a witch being led to the pyre."

"I'm just tired." This was perfectly true.

"And it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that the Dark Lord is here and you'll be spending the day in the lime-light by his side?"

Harry looked at her in surprise.

"I know you Harry, at least better than any other students here do—except perhaps Draco—I know when you're nervous."

Harry shook his head. "I'm just not good with crowds, never have been." He lied smoothly.

"Yes, but you're a Slytherin now Harry. You have to hide it, especially as the Dark Lord's ward." Draco said.

Harry sighed. "I know."

They were at the Great Hall now, and with a short sigh he entered first. Sometime during the last month of their friendship—because even though Harry had trouble understanding how it had happened, they were friends—Harry had become the leader of their trio. It was probably his "status".

Almost immediately he locked eyes with the Dark Lord.

His breath escaped him and Harry—for a moment—forgot how to walk. He'd forgot how strong Voldemort's aura was, almost suffocating in its dark power. And yet to Harry it was familiar, and as Voldemort sent a tendril of it out to brush against his own he felt a wave of calm wash over him. It soothed his anxieties about speaking with his father again, and the rituals he would no doubt be participating in tonight for Samhain.

He felt Voldemort's magic brush against his mind and he prepared to pull up another wall around his mind, but the calm, reassuring caress he could almost physically feel against his cheek distracted him long enough for Voldemort to slip in and out of his mind.

"_Come here, you're causing a scene."_

Harry jumped as the familiar voice rung through his head. But he realized that his father was right, everyone was staring at him.

He cleared his throat and began walking, but for the Slytherin table, not the staff table where Voldemort sat.

"_Harry."_

"_What, now?"_ Harry asked, peering up at Voldemort, wondering if he'd even heard him say it.

"_Yes."_

"_But—"_

"_**Now, Harry."**_

Harry changed course and warily approached the staff table as Voldemort rose to greet him.

He nodded politely at Snape, as was expected when approaching the staff table (he sneered back) and turned to face the Dark Lord. The man was appraising him, as if looking for something. He took in the clean, neat button down in pristine white and the Slytherin tie hung loose but proud round his neck, the plain black trousers, dragon-hide boots, and his neat but simple hair with approval. He looked curiously at the silver chain dangling round his neck and disappearing under his shirt. The necklace was from Daphne, when she'd learned his birthday had been in July. It was a small silver snake with emerald eyes, charmed to slither in and out of the elaborate knot it had been molded into when it was made.

He wasn't really a big jewelry person, but Daphne had been so happy when she'd given it to him. The back was engraved with a sentence in minuscule writing.

_To our budding friendship_

_ -Daphne_

He broke the silence.

"My Lord." He said quietly, bowing his head in respect.

"Harry." He felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder. He could feel the stares burning into his back. He looked up to the Dark Lord, who was smiling easily.

"How have you been?" the question surprised him.

"Fine," Harry answered honestly.

"Good, good. Run along then, you're probably hungry. Your robes are on the bed for tonight, and yes, I _do_ expect you to wear _all of it_."

Harry nodded.

"Be ready by five."

"Yes, sir."

Harry walked away. _Well, that was awkward._

* * *

><p>Harry spent most of the day with his friends, until four, when they both went to get ready.<p>

Harry figured he should probably follow.

He showers and shaves quickly and dresses in his dress robes. They were elaborate and he was not looking forward to going out in public with them.

They were mostly a very dark green, almost black. The silver embroidered collar of the robe was high and stiff, but left the hollow of his throat bare, and the sharp points poked into his neck uncomfortably. The robe had a single clasp at his collar-bone, engraved with a snake. The shirt was white with dark green buttons and silver embroidery. The trousers were plain black and tucked into short, dark green dragon-hide boots. He was also being made to wear a black cloak with silver thread sewn into it so that it would flicker when it hit the light. And left on his bed-side table, untouched except for when he'd placed it there, was the Slytherin Heir ring.

Voldemort was naming him the Heir of Slytherin tonight.

The door opened without a knock. Harry didn't turn around; he knew who it would be.

"You look fit for your station." Voldemort's voice was quiet, and close. A hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up at Voldemort through the mirror.

"What's my station?"

"The Heir of Slytherin. The Prince of Britain. Take your pick."

"I look like a bloody ponce."

"Language, Harry." His voice was amused.

Harry turned to look at him.

"What exactly happens tonight?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin your first Samhain by telling you, now would I Harry?"

". . . Father, please." His voice came out pleading.

Voldemort hid it well, but he was surprised at the use of the official tittle of who he was to Harry.

"Very well. There will be a short meeting of all the Death Eaters and their children; you will stay because I plan to inform my followers of your status." Voldemort cut him off as Harry was about to protest. "You are not a Death Eater; this is merely the easiest way to tell all of Britain the news, as it is not a private event. Then we will separate from the guests and return home for a short while to perform the Heir ritual along with our private ritual of thanks. We will then return to the Court and participate in the mass ritual of thanks, and the Samhain ball will begin. I believe both Ms. Greengrass and young Mr. Malfoy will be in attendance."

"Ok." Harry said quietly. Claiming rituals were dangerous, which is why even Dark families didn't usually perform them anymore. There had been many cases where the Heirs died during the ritual, the ancient magic too strong for even the Lords of the family to control.

A hand raised his chin, his eyes meeting the red of his father's.

"You have nothing to be afraid of; I will not let any harm befall you during the ritual."

Harry nodded, believing that the man, the murderer before him would protect him, as wrong as it sounded. "I know." He was being honest.

In a rare display of affection the Dark Lord put an arm round his shoulders, and gave a light squeeze before detaching himself, leaving a shocked Harry watching him as he slipped the Slytherin Heir ring onto the boy's limp finger and walked for the door.

* * *

><p>They apparated to the Court Headquarters, Harry pulled against the Dark Lord's chest. They couldn't use Voldemort's office because they were expected to make a public appearance.<p>

So just like Voldemort, Harry put on a bright smile and played his part of the still shy and overwhelmed ward of the Dark Lord. But this time there was a slight change in his behavior. The Prophet had been printing updates of how he was getting on in his new position on slow days when there was no real news to report.

The populace now knew that he was top of his class in nearly every subject, and that he was friends with two heirs to Prominent British Pureblood families. He was also a Slytherin.

He couldn't play the part of the completely shy, mysterious ward of the Dark Lord anymore. He had to play the shy, endearing ward of the Dark Lord with the brilliant mind and magical capability of Voldemort's protégée—soon to be Heir—and a streak of Slytherin confidence and cunning.

And he could see from the adoring looks he was getting from the crowd and the small waves of pride and approval he was getting via Voldemort's magic told him he was good at playing the part.

He really was more of a Slytherin than he liked to admit.

He stood behind the Dark Lord and to the right as he spoke, praising his citizens on their patriotism and the peace he thought was sure to finally follow. Harry didn't listen after that.

It was the sound of his name that brought him back to the present. The Dark Lord gestured for him to move forward to stand beside him.

And his speech began.

"It was tragic day for me, this day when my son was taken from me so long ago. What Dumbledore and his followers did to my child and wife was unforgivable, and I promised myself they would pay. I promised that no more parents would lose their children to those monsters; no more husbands would lose their wives, or wives their husbands. But when I promised this I knew it would take time, and in that time many more would lose loved ones. I know you, my loyal citizens, know this too, and I thank you for continuing to support your country, and I, your ruler.

But enough of that, this day is a celebration, and today, for the first time in years, I feel I have something to be thankful for other than the continued prosperity of my land. Two months ago I did not expect to be brought to the scene of a terrible crime and meet one of its victims. Young Harry intrigued me, I will be honest. I was intrigued that one so young, that had lost so much, could act as Harry had in protecting his fellow students. But then I thought, _why not? _Why would he not act so fiercely to protect innocents from those who had already taken so much from him? I saw myself in him, so willing to give everything to protect the innocent and avenge his loved ones. And yet in doing so he had made himself a target. After learning that he had no family left, I felt a sense of kin to him. Britain was the safest place for him, and it was his original home." Voldemort turned to see Harry shaking slightly, his eyes were glassy and his fists clenched.

"So I offered him sanctuary in my country, in my own home. And thanks to Harry I have gotten to experience what I thought I had lost. I cannot have my son back, but I have learned that I can still have a family. And so on this night marks a new day for me. The day I make Harry my family not only through adoption, but through naming him my only Heir."

He turned to look at Harry.

"I present to you the Heir of Slytherin. Harry Potter!"

The reaction was immediate. The crowd roared, clapping filled every inch of the atrium and the floors beyond. Harry plastered on a smile and they said their goodbyes.

Harry barely made it to the private room before the tears spilled out.

The bright smile on Voldemort's face faded as he took in his son's shivering body and tear-stained face.

"What is wrong?" he asked in genuine confusion.

Harry looked at him dubiously. "What's wrong? What's _fucking_ wrong?! You always do this!"

"Do what?"

"Manipulate me! You didn't have to bring it up! I get it ok! They took me away, you're doing what you think is best for me! I get it! I get it that you hate Dumbledore! I get that you hate all of them for taking me away! _**I GET IT! **_But I don't hate them! What Dumbledore did was wrong, ok? Is that what you want to hear? Dumbledore's a bastard, believe me, I know! But they aren't all like that! I have friends there! People I consider family, and because I know you'll win this war, _I'll never see them again! _And even if I do, they'll hate me because I'm here with _you!_"

"Harry—"

"I hate you! I hate you for keeping me here! For making me go to that _stupid_ school and make friends who would hate me if they knew what I'd been before! I hate you for making me feel truly loved for the first time in _three years_ because Sirius just can't make me feel like that! I hate that I like it here and I don't _want_ to go back to the camp! I hate you for making me confused _all the time_ so I don't even know who I am anymore! But most of all I hate you because I _can't truly hate you_." Harry's voice had dropped so low and was so thick with tears that Voldemort could barely make out what he said. But he understood.

"Harry." He murmured quietly, reaching out a hand.

"_NO!_ Don't touch me!" There was a loud shatter as every glass object in the room exploded.

And then Harry was gone.

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><p><strong>Sorry, I couldn't resist the cliffy! I was originally going to have this chapter go through to the Heir ritual, but it was getting really long, so I split it. I did absolutely no research on Samhain, not trying to offend anyone.<strong>

**I will update a lot sooner next time, no half year breaks, I promise. I got a laptop (finally) so they should be flowing more now. I'll try for one a week, if I can.**

**Please review if you have any comments and thank you for being so patient :)**

**-Ginny**


	19. Chapter 19: This is Halloween, Part 2

**Hey guys! I cannot believe the response I got for last chapter! I love you guys so much! There were too many of you to mention all of you who reviewed, but here are a few answers to questions I was asked.**

**TheNonDePlume: I'm officially off hiatus! I wouldn't do that too my readers, leaving it there on hiatus **

**AllyGreen11: Happy late birthday! Your review made my day!**

**Outofthisworldgal: you shall see *smirks mischievously* **

**Aldryne21: Dear lord, you reviewed for every chapter. Thanks for showing your support **

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorite my story. You guys have gotten me interested in writing this fic again.**

**I don't own Harry Potter; if I did this would be cannon.**

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><p>Chapter 19: This is Halloween, Part two: The Heir of Slytherin<p>

Voldemort was in a state of panic for around two seconds before he felt the wards around Slytherin Manor flare up, signaling that Harry had gone home. Only Slytherin family members could get onto the grounds without permission.

Voldemort growled and turned on his heel, apparating home.

He appeared in the foyer and stormed up the stairs, stopping before Harry's door. He needed to calm down. He'd never achieved anything by yelling at Harry, he couldn't afford to push him away again.

He could hear Harry inside, trying to staunch his tears.

He closed his eyes tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hadn't meant to upset the boy with his speech. Voldemort was a master at reading others, but he couldn't read his own son. Pathetic.

"Harry?"

The quiet sobs went quiet.

"I'm coming in."

"No!" he heard the door's lock click.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes.

"Stop being such a child," he said as he entered the room.

Harry sat on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, chin rested on his knees. His face was flushed and his eyes red and puffy. He sniffled.

Voldemort came to sit next to him on the bed, Harry tensed.

"I think we need to talk." The Dark Lord said quietly.

Harry snorted. "What about? You already know everything about me."

"Not everything," Voldemort gave him a stern look. "But I thought I might actually tell you a bit about myself."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because it has occurred me that I want you to trust me when I have told you nothing about myself."

"I already know what Tom Riddle did as a child. You hurt people even back then." Harry mumbled.

Voldemort sighed. "Must you always think the worst of me?"

"Well you did, didn't you?!" Harry snapped.

The Dark Lord nodded. "I did, but that is only half the story."

"Then enlighten me _my Lord_, what is the other half?"

"If I tell you this Harry, you must agree not to interrupt. You will not agree with all of my ideals, and you will hate the ways I dealt with things. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Came the quiet reply.

"My mother was a woman by the name of Merope Gaunt . . ."

So he went on to tell Harry of his early childhood. He told him of the little brats in the orphanage that terrorized him, of the matrons that turned a blind eye. He told him of how the other children would kill the snakes he befriended and call him "freak", and of the matrons habit of discouraging potential adoptive parents from taking him, calling him unnatural, "a possessed child" they'd called him, telling the couples who came to visit that his soul had been claimed by the devil. His heart was soured towards the muggles and things began happening to those who hurt or angered him. He hadn't even realized it had been him at first.

Then Dumbledore had come for him. He'd believe things would finally change, but he'd been wrong. On one end he'd truly discovered magic, and he'd felt as if he'd finally found his niche. And in that respect, he had. He was brilliant, the brightest mind to grace Hogwarts' halls since the founders themselves, he'd been told. The professors loved him, and for a short while even Dumbledore seemed fond of him.

But the Slytherins hated him. He was a supposed mudblood, a spot of mud on the pristine Slytherin coat of arms. And Tom Riddle—a boy who hadn't even known of the magical world a scant few months ago—was better than them. It was inconceivable, and unforgiveable.

They treated him much the same way the muggle children had. Like a freak. This went on for years. No one wanted to befriend the Slytherin House's one imperfection. Except Esella Montréal. The Montréals were well known Purebloods, but Esella had a rebellious streak a mile long. Voldemort was almost certain that she only associated with him in the beginning because it angered the Slytherins and her parents.

That all changed when they'd discovered he was the Heir of Slytherin. It hadn't been widely known outside the house of course, as he had already killed the mudblood. Then they all wanted to be his friends. But it was too late, he already hated them.

They would make brilliant minions, though.

And he continued on with his story, talking of his school days and Esella. Of his graduation and asking Dippet to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, the rejection. He told him of Dumbledore's suspicion after he killed his muggle relatives (Harry flinched). He told him of how he worked for a short time at Borgin and Burkes before taking Esella and disappearing to Albania. Of marrying Esella and Harry's conception, reclaiming Slytherin Manor, gathering followers, and outing himself as a Dark Lord when he declared war on the Ministry.

He spoke shortly of losing Harry and Esella, not wishing to upset Harry further. The boy already seemed troubled about what he was being told. For a moment Voldemort felt guilty for breaking down the last of Harry's indestructible walls.

"You must understand that losing you and Esella broke me Harry." He felt uncomfortable with saying it; he didn't like admitting that he'd been so weak.

"I fear what I would have become had I not befriended Esella at Hogwarts. I have always felt detached from my emotions, and Esella—and later you—were the only ones who could make me truly_ feel_. When I lost you I became mad, I was insane Harry." He sounded disgusted with himself.

"The first few year after you were taken is when I truly was the Monster they taught you I was. I was mad with grief. Every dark-haired child looked like you, and when they weren't you, when I saw the happy parents embracing their children, I became jealous. I killed them.

"It wasn't until I won the War that I came back to myself. I had a country to heal, to rule. I couldn't allow myself to be drawn into the abyss anymore.

Then two months ago I was tipped off that Rebels were going to enter my country to scout for a new safehouse. So I set up a trap. I was expecting four Rebels to be brought before me, not five. And not a child.

Not a child with dark hair and green eyes, the same age my son would have been had he been alive. You looked so much like him, the old madness returned. I had to be sure. So I attacked your mind and came across a barrier with Dumbledore's signature. I believe it blocks your memories of me, and Esella. Even so young, you would have remembered vague impressions of us.

So I tested your paternity. You were mine. My Harry. The madness didn't cease, it still hasn't."

He looked at Harry seriously as he slowly reacted out to put a hand on his arm, Harry didn't flinch from the touch.

"I will never let you go again, Harry."

Harry shivered at the mad glint in Voldemort's eyes as he spoke those words.

"But I will not imprison you, and I do not wish for you to feel as if you are a prisoner in a gilded cage."

"I don't." The words left Harry before he realized that they were true.

"But," Harry continued, "You . . . you confuse me. I've tried to get used to the idea of being your son, I really have. And I think I've come to terms with it, but . . . I'm not ready to _be_ a son to you. Yet. I—I just need time."

Voldemort's heart crumpled a bit at the partial rejection. But he was also elated. Harry _wanted_ to be a son to him, one day.

"Perfectly reasonable."

"Just—just give me till Christmas, ok?" Harry whispered, uncertain.

The Dark Lord surprised him by wrapping an arm around him and kissing his forehead, then suddenly he was feet away, at the door.

"Christmas it is, then. Now come along, we have rituals to perform." He said this with the haughty air, his nose in the air as he moved into the hallway. Harry couldn't help the choked laugh that bubble in his throat.

* * *

><p>The room was large, and mostly bare. There were only two things in the room. A small table laden with various potion flasks and a small dagger, which Harry glanced at warily. The other was an elaborate stone alter (for lack of a better word) with a colossal stone snake wrapped round it, it's head raised and pointed at the flat surface at the top of the dais, as if poised to strike.<p>

Harry followed Voldemort over to the table.

"What are all of the potions for?" Harry asked.

"After the ritual, mostly. Just a few concoctions to keep you comfortable after you wake."

"I have to be asleep during the ritual?" his voice was slightly panicked.

The Dark Lord was quick to reassure him. "Not asleep, exactly. More along the lines of entranced. It makes it easier for the Heir to succumb to the Ancient Magicks. That is why the Heirs died so often in these rituals, their magic fought against the old magic, and lost. With you only half aware of the situation, I can help you keep control of your magic during the ritual."

"Won't that leave me vulnerable?"

"I'll protect you."

And once again, Harry believed him.

"O-ok." Harry stuttered. He was still terrified of everything going wrong.

Voldemort's hand was on his shoulder a moment later, "You'll be fine, son."

Harry just nodded.

Voldemort picked up a colorless potion and handed to him.

"The potion will take a few minutes to take full effect, you will begin to feel weak. That is normal. I will be behind you when you take the potion to keep you steady."

Harry nodded and uncorked the potion, and gulped it down in one breath.

The effects were almost immediate. He began to feel woozy, and as promised, his father's arms wrapped round him, lowering him to the ground. He was held with his head lolling against Voldemort's shoulder, pressed securely into his chest.

Harry's mind drifted as the potion took full effect, leaving him incapable of thinking much of anything.

He heard the man holding him (who he later realized was Voldemort) say something about moving him to the alter, and he nodded, though he hadn't understood a word of what had been said. He felt himself being laid on a hard surface. A moment later he felt something sliding across his body and tried to move, but couldn't. He gave up. (It was the giant stone snake, he'd later realize—with horror— that had bound him to the dais.)

He felt a sharp pain in his chest and let out a whimper, struggling against the stone encasing him. His mind was coming back into focus and he heard Voldemort murmuring to him, telling him to relax.

"I know it hurts, son. Just let the magic take over and it will stop."

He wasn't sure if he was hearing his father speak aloud or in his head. He slowly forced himself to relax, a tidal wave of magic washed over him. He shivered. The magic was overwhelming, suffocating in its power, and Harry's back arched. He thought he might have screamed, but he couldn't hear it over the roaring in his ears.

He felt a hand in his hair, and reassuring words were spoken quietly into his ear. He calmed and his eyes tried to focus on the undefined blob in front of him. Eventually Voldemort swam into his view, and red eyes locked with pained green.

He felt more magic wash over him, but this time it was familiar, comforting. It was his father's magic. He began to feel tired, and with his father's dark, soothing aura surrounding him, he floated into the comfortable darkness.

* * *

><p>"Harry?" his voice was panicked, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The boy had fainted. He wasn't supposed to lose consciousness!<p>

He shook Harry's shoulder. "Harry, wake up! You can't fall asleep!"

He didn't even stir.

Then suddenly Harry began hissing. _Hissing_. The Dark Lord knew what he was speaking, but he couldn't believe it. He was speaking Ancient Parseltongue, the language that all reptiles understood. Even dragons. It had been lost to humans even before Salazar Slytherin had been born, though he'd searched for it extensively.

What was happening to his son?

* * *

><p>Harry slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was sitting propped up against something. The surface was cool and smooth, it seemed to be roped. And <em>moving<em>.

Harry inhaled quietly in alarm. He was being held in the coils of a basilisk.

"She won't harm you. In her eyes you are family, a 'hatchling', I believe she is calling you."

Harry looked up, startled.

The man standing a few feet away was in his mid-sixties. He had black hair going gray, and dark, intelligent eyes. He watched Harry closely, taking in his pale skin and dark hair.

"You look like your father." He said finally.

"So I've been told. Who are you?" Harry snapped.

"You have the temperament of a Gryffindor, I see, my poor House.

Then it hit him. "You're Salazar Slytherin!"

The man rolled his eyes. "It is good to know none of that Slytherin intelligence has left us."

Harry growled. "Why am I here? Voldemort said nothing about meeting you."

"That is because I had nothing to say to him when I accepted him as my Heir. And I expect you not to tell him what I share with you, it is for your ears and yours alone. You have already been accepted as my heir's heir. Now I give you a warning, my young descendant. And beg you to take heed."

He was kneeling in front of Harry now, and he took his chin in his hand, forcing Harry to look him in the eye.

"Beware the fatal flaw, for it shall be the downfall of everything."

And with those words, Salazar Slytherin and the Basilisk were gone, and Harry was falling once more.

* * *

><p>Harry woke slowly, groaning at the soreness in his chest.<p>

He became quickly aware that he was no longer bound to the dais in the bare room, but lying on a soft surface. He opened his eyes blearily, blinking several time, and looked around. He was lying on a transfigured sofa in Voldemort's office, and said man was sitting on a chair next to him.

Harry noticed that Voldemort had removed his robe and his shirt was unbuttoned. He raised an eyebrow at his father, silently asking why he saw it fit to undress his son.

Voldemort held up a damp cloth Harry hadn't noticed before, and gestured to Harry's chest. Harry found it difficult to raise his head, but managed it. The entire left side of his chest was red and inflamed, and where the snake had bitten him was what seemed to be a tattoo.

It was a minute dark green and silver snake slithering around in the same small spot; it resembled the snake on the Slytherin coat of arms. It slithered happily around over his heart for a while, then curled up and seemed to fall asleep.

Harry's head thunked back against the pillow and he closed his eyes, opening them again when he felt a hand on his forehead. Voldemort was watching him with veiled concern.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was drugged and bitten by a giant stone snake. Thanks for the warming on that, by the way."

"I didn't want to frighten you."

"Says the man that thought taking me to Azkaban was a brilliant way to punish me." Harry mumbled back.

"You're still running a fever." Voldemort said, pursing his lips. He was avoiding Harry's statement.

Harry batted his hand away. "Stop coddling me! I'm not a child." He huffed.

The Dark Lord sounded amused as he said, "You're barely fifteen."

"I'm mature for my age!"

Still amused, Voldemort merely said, "Just rest for a while Harry, I've already given you a fever reducing potion."

"Don't we have to get back for the Samhain Ball? It wouldn't look very good if we missed it."

"We are heading it Harry, they can't very well start without us."

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><p><strong>So there was chapter nineteen, what did you think? I wanted to do something different for the Heir of Slytherin Ritual, just because it's done a lot.<strong>

**Tell me what you think, and I'll update again next weekend!**

**-Ginny**


	20. Chapter 20: This is Halloween, Part 3

**Hey guys, I know this is (really,**_** really**_**) late. Sorry 'bout that. **

**Guest: my plan is to finish Twist in Destiny sometime this year and then rewrite Seventh Horcrux. I love the idea still, but to be honest, I think my execution sucked. It was my first story after all. I won't be changing much, just going over it and fixing mistakes and things I don't like.**

**Blake2020: thanks for all the reviews!**

**PhoenixGrifyndor: think back on the prophecy**

**fangirl-friend2: I can't think of any off the top of my head, sorry. But a little trick I use when I want to find a really good story is set it to sort by reviews; those stories are usually really good.**

**Ivycloak: thanks, but I actually knew that. I type at the speed a slug slithers (I guess you'd call it that) and my mind works to fast for my poor fingers to keep up. That's actually why I make so many grammatical errors, and I can never seem to catch all of them. I'm trying to find a beta, worry not.**

**sarah-rose76646: actually, it's not useless. I thought I made it pretty obvious that Slytherin was warning Harry of the prophecy. He couldn't very well just come out and tell Harry of the prophecy, not only would that ruin the plot, it would make it boring. Sorry if it wasn't obvious to you or other readers, I think I sometimes forget that you guys don't know how this story will end and how Salazar's message plays into the story later.**

**I am a sixteen year old American girl. Is that the description of J.K. Rowling? No? Then did I write Harry Potter?**

**Onward, then.**

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><p>Chapter 20: This is Halloween, Part 3; Dark Lords and Demons<p>

They arrived back at the Ministry shortly after. Voldemort insisted that Harry change his robes, as there were now fang marks in them, thanks to the giant stone Basilisk. Harry, annoyed, had stomped off to the restroom to change. Thankfully this time around the robes were simpler. Plain black with dark green embroidery. Same shirt and trousers, same boots.

Walking down the long Court corridor Harry muttered, "I'm starting to believe you have an unhealthy obsession with dressing me up like a doll."

Voldemort chuckled. "You are the unofficial prince of Britain; you must always look your best."

"Isn't it supposed to be the mother that forces you into ungodly clothes?"

"Believe me, where Esella here, she would." Voldemort smirked.

Harry huffed and put on a smile as the doors to the Atrium opened.

The Atrium had been decked out for Samhain, lit only with small candles sitting on the floor (which Harry thought was a bit of fire hazard) and cushions scattered into a large circle (apparently Purebloods were too good to sit on the floor).

They were the last in, but there were of course spaces left for them . . . in the middle of the circle. In the center of attention. Just where he didn't want to be. Great.

Harry would like to say that he paid avid attention to the ceremonies, but that would be a lie. He was distracted by the apparition of his mother in the corner. Not Lily, but Esella.

"Mum," Harry breathed.

Voldemort didn't pause in his incanting (when had he started incanting?) but Harry knew that he was aware of her presence, if the tenseness of his shoulders was anything to go by. Harry wondered when he'd started being able to read his father.

She was beautiful. She was petite and curvaceous, dressed in simple dark blue robes. Her hair was chestnut brown, verging on auburn and falling freely around her face. She was pale like himself and Voldemort (so he'd been doomed to never tan then), had a heart-shaped face with large dark green eyes—so much like Harry's own—with long dark lashes. Harry could see the vague resemblance, though he looked more like Voldemort. He had her eyes, her lips.

He'd seen her in the photograph in Voldemort's office, but it was nothing compared to seeing her there, in person . . . or whatever she was. She wasn't solid, exactly, but she wasn't transparent.

"She's a spirit, visible to us because of the veil's thinning on Samhain." He heard the Dark Lord mutter to him.

Harry's eyes didn't leave Esella as he asked, "So she's really here then?"

He saw his father nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yes. The veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest on Samhain. So if you perform certain rituals, you can call loved ones that have passed over. If they get near enough to the veil, we can see them."

"You do this every year?"

"No."

And Harry understood. His father had called Esella for him. He wanted Harry to be able to see his mother. And he was willing to face the pain of seeing her, so that Harry would get to see her too.

"Thank you." Harry whispered.

He hesitantly smiled at Esella, who beamed back at him. Her eyes turned to Voldemort and became sad; she offered him a small, melancholy smile. His breath caught as he nodded.

"I know. I will." Voldemort murmured.

And then with a final wave at both of them, she vanished.

Harry shook his head and seemed to come out of a daze, he looked around. Everyone seemed to be staring of into space with dreamy smiles on their faces and Harry realized that they were all seeing lost loved ones too. It seemed odd, seeing Death Eaters so vulnerable.

Harry looked over to his father, and his questions were pushed to the back of his mind.

Voldemort was pale and stiff, blood-red eyes blazing in to the floor.

"My Lord?" Harry asked, conscious of the fact that they were in a public place.

He got a minute shake of the head in response.

Moments later Voldemort let out a long breath and relaxed.

People began to emerge from their trances, reassembling their masks.

Voldemort stood and offered Harry a hand up.

"And now if you will all join me in the ballroom, dinner shall be served shortly." He announced curtly.

* * *

><p>After sitting through the torture session known to Harry as a political dinner, couples were up and dancing, and Harry had fled the head table for the safety of his friends' company.<p>

Harry had been introduced to many new people. Harry would have rather not met most of them.

There were only two that had seemed decent.

Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, had been one of them. Harry hadn't liked him initially, he was arrogant.

_More like he's got a stick up his ass, I wonder if it runs in the Malfoy family?_ Harry thought amusedly.

Lucius was certainly perfect for the role of the Minister of Magic, though. He was the Patriarch of an old, wealthy Pureblood family. He was seasoned in politics and manipulation. And he was undyingly loyal to the Dark Lord.

He'd greeted Harry politely, but haughtily, and then turned back to Voldemort to discuss some new Ministry plan. But at least he wasn't pining over Harry to up his status, then again he didn't need to, he was the Dark Lord's right hand, after all.

Harry could respect him though. From what he'd heard from Draco, Lucius was a family man. There was no doubt that the Malfoy Lord adored his wife and only child.

The other had been Barty Crouch Jr.

He would apparently be taking over Defense and the Dark Arts in the spring term. Harry wasn't told why.

Crouch was surprisingly young, and almost innocent looking. It was obvious that he hero worshipped Voldemort. He stared at him with wide, adoring eyes. Voldemort seemed to find this incredibly amusing as he introduced Harry to his soon-to-be professor.

Crouch turned to look at him, and a friendly grin split his face.

Was this man even a real Death Eater?

"Hullo, Harry! As I'm not your professor yet, feel free to call me Barty!"

"Um, hi." Harry answered a bit warily.

"Do you hate these dinners as much as I do? I can't stand them, all of the double meanings and talking in circles. I never was much for that. I've always been more of the 'take action' type. My father found it hard to believe I was sorted into Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor."

Crouch's friendly behavior was contagious and Harry couldn't help smile at him.

"Yeah, I'm not one for social events either."

They talked for a bit longer before Crouch was called away.

Voldemort was next to him a moment later.

"You seem to get along with Barty."

"He was . . . different."

"How so?" his father asked curiously.

"He didn't really seem the Death Eater type, other than the hero worship towards you."

"He has a youthful personality, that is true. But he's a demon in battle. One of my best fighters."

"Really?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Yes. Which is why I've arranged for him to tutor you."

"I don't need a tutor!"

"No, you don't. You need a teacher. Someone who can show you new things and help you to hone your abilities. I would like to teach you myself, but I haven't the time. He is talented and loyal, and you get along well. It works."

Harry thought back on that conversation now as Daphne tried (and failed) to pull him into a dance.

"You could at least try, you know! Why did you ask me to accompany you if you weren't planning to be a proper gentleman and dance with me!" she huffed.

"I _didn't_ ask you here, you announced that you were my date to the _whole school_. Without asking me. And then_ told_ me that I was to escort you." He pointed out.

"Same difference. Don't be a bother Harry, just dance with me!"

Harry sighed in resignation and allowed himself to be dragged out onto the ballroom floor. Daphne smirking in victory the whole way.

But before they reached the floor he bumped into a large black _something_.

That large black something happened to be Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I'm sorry!" Harry said in embarrassment. He'd walked right into her.

"It's quite alright Little Lord Potter. How are you enjoying your night?"

"I'm enjoying it well, Madam . . ."

"Oh, how uncouth of me. I am—"

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry answered for her.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a beautiful woman. She was tall and curvaceous, with an organized mess of curls pulled up into an elaborate bun atop her head, heavily lidded eyes, and a sleek black evening gown. Her smile was almost feline, like a cat stalking prey as she looked at him.

"I've heard a lot about you." Harry said, trying to put on a polite smile.

"All good from our Lord, I hope?" She smiled mischievously.

Actually, he'd heard everything that he knew about her from Sirius, who referred to her as "the crazy bitch". But Harry wasn't planning on telling her that.

"Of course, My Lady."

She laughed, a tinkling sound that didn't match her Cheshire cat grin. "So well mannered! I can see why our Lord favors you Little Lord Potter!"

Harry just smiled, at a loss as to what to say.

Luckily Daphne came to the rescue.

"Lady Lestrange, how nice to see you! I hate to interrupt, but I wonder if I might have my date back for one final dance?" Daphne's voice was sugary-sweet and utterly fake. Harry felt Daphne push herself against his side and following her lead her wrapped an arm around her, shooting Bellatrix what he hoped looked like a sheepish smile as he led Daphne away.

He turned to her once he was sure they were out of Lestrange's sphere of hearing and smiled gratefully at her.

"You're a life saver, thanks."

Without thinking about it, he pecked her on the cheek.

Neither noticed the pair of red eyes narrow across the hall as Daphne's cheeks reddened.

* * *

><p><strong>So there's chapter 20. I'm so so so so sorry that there was such a long break. I've had a lot going on. Swim season ended (I got the most improved award, woooo!) my demonic English teacher assigned two projects at once, and they were both 30% of my grade. I've got Finals to study for and friends to placate. The next chapter will be up around June 8, after school is out and then updates will be much more regular. <strong>

**Thanks to all of my amazing followers, you guys are awesome.**

**I think I've finally written myself out of this hole I created for myself, so yay. I'm sorry if the beginning of this chapter sucked, I wrote it back when I had writer's block and couldn't think of anything better.**

_**READ**_

_**READ**_

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**Are any of you fans of the Legend novels by Marie Lu? My friends and I made a trailer for the second book in the series, Prodigy, for a school project, and I'd really love for you guys to watch it. Anyone who does gets a shout out next chapter and the synopsis of a new fic I'm thinking of writing, along with a preview. **

**The video is on YouTube, look up THEHCREWPRODUCTIONS, PRODIGY TRAILER for your viewing entertainment. I promise it's actually pretty good. I have a lot of friends that are involved in drama, and I directed it.**

**So review, give me some views on YouTube, send a review of what you think of the video, and hang in there for the next chapter.**

**-Ginny**


	21. Chapter 21: Ferrets, GreenGrass, and Mud

**Hi ya, guys! Sorry this is late; I've been busy with school ending and my friend's original production of a Hunger Games storyline she wrote. It's really good and I will be writing the FanFic adaptation of that, so stay tuned. **

**Thanks to my amazing followers, especially the reviewers!**

**Guest: As a said in the author's note last chapter, I will be finishing this story and then rewriting The Seventh Horcrux because I still love the concept but my writing for it was absolute crap.**

**Jaq: Thank you and yes, I'm only sixteen but I've always been a bit advanced in my reading/writing skills **

**J: Thank you! I like some slash fics, but most of the Harry/Voldemort ones lean towards BDSM, which creeps me out. And I hate the fics where Harry finds out that he is the Dark Lord's son and suddenly BAM, he's all dark and evil. Will my Harry go dark? Yes, a bit. But it will be a slow descent and for reasons that are just so**_** Harry**_** in nature, that some probably won't consider it as Harry going dark. And my Harry will never be evil.**

**AequusTempestas: Thank you! That's the best praise I could ask for. I love Luna, but I hadn't been planning to put her in the story.**

**So I need to know if you guys are ok with Daphne and Harry. It won't be a major part of the story, more like a rather insignificant subplot. So tell me in a review!**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 21: Ferrets, Green Grass, and Mud<p>

"Mr. Potter, identify this rune for me, would you?" The Ancient Runes professor, Professor Vector, asked in her nasally voice. Harry, who had been twirling his wand between his fingers in an outward show of boredom, blushed. But he was still able to answer.

"It's a rune of healing, Professor. Specifically, to mend injuries that cause internal bleeding."

Vector raised a delicate eyebrow in surprise; she'd called on him because he wasn't paying attention.

"You are interested in runes, boy?"

"I like them fine Ma'am, but most of my knowledge on them is theoretical." Harry answered, blushing again. Draco snickered.

The Professor nodded and continued the lesson, and Harry tried his best to pay attention. He hadn't meant to daydream, but he couldn't stop thinking about Daphne. Horribly cliché, he knew, but he couldn't help it. She'd been a bit awkward with him ever since Samhain, a week ago, and he couldn't help but regret it. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't know how he felt about Daphne. He'd kissed her on the cheek on impulse. Daphne was smart, kind (for the most part), and funny. But he hadn't really thought of her in a romantic light till Samhain.

Draco seemed to realize that he was drifting again, because he elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a pointed look before turning back to the Professor.

Just in time too, because Professor Vector was assigning them a project.

"You'll be working in pairs to master a rune. Runes are difficult and as this is one of the first practical projects of the year, I figured two minds are better than one. Do not become frustrated when you don't get it the first time. Runes take patience and strong natural magic to perform. Now I have a prize of sorts for the first pair to correctly draw and use a rune. Please remember that it must be a fifth level rune. This project will be due the first day of Spring term. And as a treat for the top three in the class, they will get to choose their partners."

Harry and Draco shared a look. They had been battling over the top spot in the class the whole term.

"Top of the class is Mr. Malfoy," Vector said, Draco smirked. "And your partner Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked to Harry and he nodded. They were both at the top of the class, and both willing to do their parts of the project. It was a good match.

"Harry, Professor."

Vector nodded as if she'd expected it.

"Well the second in the class was Potter, so let's move on to the third, shall we?"

"Mister Nott, your partner?"

"Zabini, Madam." Nott replied after a nod from Blaise.

"Wonderful, and now on to the others."

Harry zoned out again, paying attention only long enough to know that Daphne was paired with a Ravenclaw girl.

The bell rang, signifying the end of class. Harry and Draco stood, packing away their supplies and discussing what rune they should attempt for the project.

"Not a rune of healing, those are too difficult for fifth years, even mediwitches have trouble with healing runes." Harry said.

"How about a rune for disappearing?"

"That could be cool. Why don't we do some research on it later."

"I have quidditch practice later." Draco replied.

"Tomorrow them?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Don't you have tutoring with Crouch right about now?" Draco asked.

"Damn it all, I forgot. Vol—the Dark Lord would have my head if I missed it."

"Well get on with it then! Do you want me to take your bag down to the dorm? I'm going that way to drop off mine."

"Yeah , thanks."

Harry handed his book bag over and set off towards his father's office. He was training in his room at Slytherin Manor_**(he has a training room at home remember?)**_, since Crouch wasn't at Hogwarts yet.

"He knocked and got the usual "Enter" from Voldemort.

His father was sitting behind his desk, talking to Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah Harry, go on through. Barty is waiting for you in the training room."

"Yes, sir."

Harry, feeling a tad bit foolish, turned around to face the door he'd just walked through, and opened it once more. Only now it led into the long, familiar corridor of Slytherin Manor. No longer needing Tibby to navigate the large manor, he went straight to his room, shedding the hated robe and leaving it on the bed. Now much more comfortable in just trousers and a button down (he'd discarded his tie as well) he met Crouch in the training room.

"Hello Harry!" Barty grinned as Harry entered the room

Harry smiled at the excitable man. "Hi, Mr. Crouch."

Crouch's mood abruptly darkened. "Mr. Crouch was my father, and I didn't much like my father," his mood brightened as quickly as a darkened, "So just call me Barty, ok?"

"Er . . . ok. Barty." Harry wondered why his father had left him alone with a bipolar wizard with daddy issues.

The man beamed.

"Let's get started then. Show me your fighting stance."

Harry shifted to the balls of his feet, wrist slightly flexed, ready to release his wand from its holster. To an untrained eye he looked relaxed and oblivious to a threat.

"Good, good. Ready for a fight, but inconspicuous. I want to get an idea your skill set, so I want you to try to disarm me."

Harry's wand was in his hand the next moment, an _ Expelliarmus _flying through the air immediately after.

Barty threw up a shield just as quickly. He grinned.

"Good reflexes, but you fight like a Gryffindor. You immediately tried to disarm me. Use other spells, it'll throw of the opponent. You're a Slytherin, fight like one."

Harry shot a blasting curse at him next.

Barty laughed, though he barely dodged it.

"That's more like it!"

"The impromptu dual went on like this, Harry shooting curses and jinxes at Barty while he dodged or deflected them. He said he wanted to gauge Harry's power level and stamina, as well as his repertoire of spells. They'd be testing is defensive skills next time.

Harry was exhausted and decided to throw something at Barty that he definitely wouldn't see coming.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Harry gawked in disbelief as instead of the big glowing stag emerging from his wand, an indistinct white mist emerged. Frowning, Harry cancelled the spell and tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

All with the same result.

Suddenly his wand flew out of his hand, and he looked around wildly until his eyes fixed on a concerned-looking Barty, who was holding Harry's wand in his hand.

Harry only realized how weak he felt when he sunk to the floor.

Barty was there a minute later.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand? Do you realize how dangerous it is to repeatedly cast a spell that powerful? You could have drained your core if I hadn't disarmed you!"

"I've been able to cast a corporeal Patronus since I was thirteen! So why is it just mist now!" Harry cried.

"Well, you've been going through a bit of turmoil lately, haven't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. Did he know . . . ? "What?"

"You came from a neutral family and were raised by a predominately light grandmother, weren't you? The Dark Lord said you might have a bit of trouble with any Dark Magic I might try to teach you because your core was basically all light magic. He asked me not to teach you any until you were comfortable with it."

"Oh . . . yeah."

"Sometimes when people go through an ordeal that is especially life-changing, so life changing that it changes _them_, their Patronus changes with them. It can also happen if you have extreme feelings for someone, which is more common. Then your Patronus will change to reflect theirs. It stands to reason that you're at a point in your life where you're indecisive on a major part of yourself, or your life, so your Patronus won't have a corporeal form until you resolve whatever caused the indecision."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage.

"Well let's get you a pepper up, then you can head back to Hogwarts for supper."

"That won't be necessary, Barty. I wish to speak with Harry about something of importance, so he will not be returning to Hogwarts quite yet."

Voldemort was standing in the doorway, eying Harry's pale, tired face.

"Though a pepper up might do him some good. They're in the mirrored cabinet in the bathroom."

When Barty returned, Harry was sitting on the bed. The Dark Lord was standing next to him. Awkward silence was thick in the silence and Barty was happy to escape with a respectful bow to the Dark Lord and a smile and promise to see him Thursday for their next session.

Harry decided he quite liked Barty.

* * *

><p>Harry and the Dark Lord sat in their normal seats in the Dining Room. Though not much eating was being done.<p>

"What are your feelings towards Miss Greengrass?"

Harry gave him an incredulous look, and then scoffed. "I'm not having this talk with you."

"Harry—"

"I'm fifteen, I've already had the wands and the holsters speech. I'm good, thanks."

"That is _not_ where this conversation was going." Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"It's not?" Harry asked, blushing redder then the Gryffindor banner.

"No, but thank you for informing me. That is one less painful conversation I have to have with you then."

Harry blushed redder.

"Then where could the conversation possibly be going?!" Harry asked defensively.

"You are not to continue any romantic relationship with Miss Greengrass."

"What? Why!"

"Because we are in the middle of orchestrating a peace treaty with France, and one of the conditions that the French Minister is pushing is a marriage between the nations."

"But the Delacour girl is like four years older than me! And you can't dictate who I marry! It isn't the sixteenth century!" Harry yelled.

"Fleur Delacour is only three years older than you, actually. But I was speaking of her younger sister, Gabrielle Delacour."

"But that's even worse! She's like five years _younger_ than me!"

"She's only three years younger. And the marriage would never actually go through, do you think the French Minister wants his darling daughter to marry someone from a country they've been at war with? You'd just be courting for a while, a year at most." Voldemort attempted to placate.

"You mean I'd have to babysit her for a year? She's twelve for God's sake!"

"Then you will babysit her for a year! It is your duty—"

"It is _not_ my _duty_! In case you've forgotten, I'm a prisoner! You are _keeping_ me here! I'm doing it for Sirius, not _you_!"

Harry's face paled as he realized what he'd just said.

"Father, I'm—I didn't—"

"Go back to Hogwarts." Voldemort's face was emotionless, his eyes cold as his voice.

"Father—"

"_**Now!**_ Get out of my sight!" Voldemort hissed.

"Yes, sir." Harry whispered.

Harry's hand was on the door when his father next spoke.

"And Mr. Potter."

Harry flinched at the formal address. He turned.

Voldemort watched him with cold, emotionless eyes as he spoke.

"We will speak of this again during the Christmas holidays. In the meantime do try not to whore yourself out to every girl who buys you pretty things."

Harry abruptly stopped fidgeting with the necklace Daphne had gotten him for his birthday.

A sob escaped his throat, and Harry fled the room.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger may have been what the Purebloods called a mudblood, but she was smart. And even though she didn't hang around him much, Hermione could tell there was something wrong with Harry.<p>

Ever since he'd missed their study session a week ago, he'd been acting strange.

He'd happily told her that he was getting some tutoring, so he may be a bit late for their study date. But he'd never shown up. She'd taken it lightly, he was probably just tired or got roped into doing something with the other Slytherins.

But she'd seen him the next day in the hall just after the non-muggleborn students finished breakfast. He was alone, and he looked terrible. His usually neat hair was in disarray and there were dark circles under his eyes. It didn't look as if he'd slept.

Over the course of the week it got worse and Hermione wondered if he was becoming physically ill. She's seen Malfoy and Greengrass harping on him to eat more several times, and one of the professors had even sent him to the hospital wing.

He was at their next study session.

Harry looked as if he hadn't slept or even eaten in days. His skin was sickly pale and his eyes surrounded by dark circles. But he brushed it of as insomnia and a stomach bug, telling her he was fine.

When she pressed him on why he didn't ask Madam Pomfrey for a stomach soothing potion and some dreamless sleep, he snapped at her.

"Look Harry, I'm not an idiot. I know something is wrong."

"I'm fine Hermione," he groaned before getting up, "I think I'll retire early, try to get some sleep."

She caught his wrist.

"You can tell me." She said quietly.

He sighed and sat back down, giving in.

"My guardian and I got into a row. He just made me so angry! I said some things I didn't mean, and I think I really hurt him."

"You hurt the Dark Lord's _feelings_?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes!" Harry bit out. "And I don't know if he'll forgive me. I've sent him letters, trying to apologize. He won't answer them. I've even gone to his office, he won't let me in."

"I don't know what to say Harry. Just give him time I guess."

"But I can't stand the thought of him hating me!" that had come out unexpectedly.

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"It seems like you really do care about him."

"It's complicated." Harry mumbled, head buried in his arms.

"Well Harry, if you want my honest opinion, here it is."

Harry looked up.

"You're a good person Harry. And that makes it unbelievably hard to truly hate you. If he cares about you as much as you seem to care about him, he'll forgive you."

* * *

><p><strong>So what did you guys think. I know Voldemort was really hard on Harry, but I had to show that it's still Voldemort. He is mean and spiteful, especially when upset or angry. Don't worry, there is a good reason I've driven a wedge between the two. So just bear with me. This was the last filler chapter, so things will start picking up from here. I'd hope to write another chapter for this right now, but this chapter has me emotionally drained. So maybe by Tuesday, you guys will have another chapter.<strong>

**Tell me what you think!**

**-Ginny**


	22. Chapter 22: Padfoot at Madam Puddifoot's

**Hey guys! Another chapter! I drew Harry yesterday, it's now the cover art for the story. I can't draw very well, but tell me what you think and if you want more.**

**J (guest): Thank you so much! I actually do want to write professionally in my free time when I'm older, and since I want to be a special needs teacher, so I'll have time during the summer. **

**Thanks to Ret, Guest, Celestialuna, Sarah, KK, Mart, Cherrie-san, Belletristik Aura, bubzchoc, and Outofthisworldgal for reviewing!**

**Belletristik Aura: He did forbid it, but I forgot about that. So let's just say that Voldemort let it slide because it looked good to the neutral and light families that Harry would befriend a muggleborn. **

**Do I own Harry Potter? Yes. Totally. That's why I'm writing a fanfiction for it. (This is something known as sarcasm).**

* * *

><p>Chapter 22: Padfoot at Madam Puddifoot's<p>

Daphne regretted avoiding Harry. She honestly hadn't meant too, Harry had just caught her by surprise. Harry was so sweet and kind . . . and completely unknowledgeable on Pureblood etiquette. It was improper to show romantic affection in public. But she knew she was fooling herself into thinking that was what was bothering her. She'd_ blushed_. Like a bloody love-sick _school girl_.

_Aren't you? _A mocking voice asked.

_Shut up._

And now she was talking to herself.

She'd liked Harry for a while, but she'd never thought anything would come of it. Most of the girls at the school liked Harry. It was hard not to, he had attributes that every house liked. Slytherins liked his high position and connections. Gryffindors liked his bravery. Hufflepuffs liked his kindness. And Ravenclaws liked his intelligence.

And then there was the fact that he was bloody hot.

Harry was probably the most attractive boy at the school with those perfect aristocratic features tempered by an ironic smile and those mischievous green eyes. And Harry honestly didn't realize that he was attractive, which most of the girls thought was adorable.

But none of that really mattered to Daphne.

Sure, it was definitely a plus that he was cute, but Daphne had grown to like the quiet, shy boy who had been all alone in an unfamiliar place. She remembered Harry the first few weeks that he had been at Hogwarts. He'd been a painfully shy boy who could sometime be caught staring at people as if he honestly couldn't understand them. She didn't buy the story that had been released about Harry.

Someone who didn't know him well might, but she'd seen how he shifted into a fighting stance at loud noises, or shot off curses much too advanced to learn at any school. She's seen the way he bristled at the mention of the rebels and the criminal Sirius Black.

Chances are that he'd had some sort of contact with the rebels, possibly with a family member involved, and been caught. Judging from his reaction to the name Sirius Black, that was his family member. Why the Dark Lord had taken enough interest in him to blood adopt him was a mystery, but she intended to find out.

There were more important things to achieve right now though, namely getting Harry to eat. He'd been a bit better since talking to Granger, he was sleeping again, but he still refused to eat more than what they forced him too. All he'd told them was that he'd gotten into a row with the Dark Lord.

Daphne knew that the affection Harry felt towards his guardian wasn't fake. It was too complex to be fake. Harry was almost dependent on Dark Lord, but at the same time was constantly complaining about his guardian. She couldn't help but relate it to a parental relationship. Harry cared about the Dark Lord's opinion of him, and looked honestly happy when he was praised. And the current situation was nothing if not proof that Harry was dependent on the Dark Lord's affection. It was almost unhealthy how much he was able to influence Harry's emotions.

Daphne wasn't sure how her thoughts had drifted from her crush on Harry to his mental state.

But she knew that she had to do something about it.

* * *

><p>Sirius was livid.<p>

Fucking Voldemort was parading Harry around like a trophy. And now he planned to marry him off to cement a treaty.

He'd nicked a Prophet upon his arrival in Hogsmead, and had seen this article on the front page.

**Treaty of Magical Cooperation Signed! Prince of Britain Betrothed?**

**That's right Folks! You heard it here first! The unofficial Prince of Wizarding Britain, Harry Potter, has been promised to the French Minister's youngest daughter! The Lucky girl in question, Gabrielle Delacour, as well as Mr. Potter was unavailable for comment. The Dark Lord however did release a statement, which this reporter was fortunate enough to hear in person. "I am proud of my ward for taking on this responsibility, and I hope that the great people of Wizarding Britain will support him in this." Mr. Potter certainly is stepping up to his responsibilities as the unofficial Prince of our great nation, and I for one support him. And to all of the ladies out there, though our darling Prince is now taken, I implore you to support him as well. This is Rita Skeeter, wishing Mr. Potter the best of luck on his first date with his betrothed, set for the New Years.**

That _Bastard_.

How dare he sell Harry off like a piece of meat!

"Well guess what arsehole, I'm back now. And Harry won't be marrying anyone if I have any say on the matter! Even it does get me thrown into Azkaban; I'll protect your son, since you won't!"

* * *

><p>Six prisoners being held at the Ministry died over the week after the fight.<p>

Voldemort hadn't tortured anyone out of pure anger since the night he found Harry sitting at his feet with the other rebels, alive and well. Two prisoners had died that night.

He knew Harry was in a bad way. He'd gotten a mildly concerned, if not grudging, report from Snape that Harry looked ill. And while his ever-growing conscience (that only seemed to care about Harry) yelled at him to go comfort his son, the cruel, spiteful part of him urged him to let the stupid boy suffer.

He didn't want to talk to Harry for fear of hurting him in all honesty. He feared he'd lose control and torture the boy if they ended up fighting again, and that was the one thing he knew he would rather give up Britain to the rebels than do. Hurt his son.

_Bit late for that, you're the reason he can't keep food down._

He knew he'd have to mend things eventually, but at the moment he was perfectly fine with allowing the boy to wallow in his guilt (though this resolve took a blow every time Harry sent a letter pleading with him to so much as answer him) and to send Barty to tutor Harry at Hogwarts so he didn't have to see him.

He was hiding, he knew, but control was his everything.

And Harry was the one thing that made him lose it.

The alarms in Hogsmead blared.

It seemed he wouldn't have a choice.

* * *

><p>Harry really couldn't care less about the Hogsmead weekend, though he allowed Draco and Daphne to drag him along.<p>

He'd made up with Daphne, but he was too miserable for even that to make him feel better.

They were supposed to be Christmas shopping, but Harry didn't much feel like buy gifts, so he just tagged along. They were done now, and as the Three Broomsticks was full, they were left with Madam Puddifoot's.

He sat looking out the window, tracing the rim of his teacup absentmindedly when he saw the big black dog trot up the hill. Harry froze as he made eye contact with it. Familiar stormy grey eyes looked back at him for a minute, before widening. And then the dog turned tail and sprinted away.

"Padfoot!" Harry murmured to himself. He was up a moment later with a vague excuse of needing the toilet, and left the tea shop.

He was in the process of running towards the hill when the wards were set off.

Alarms blared and Harry stopped as people ran out of the quidditch supply shop.

Aurors were apparating in the next moment, and one held his wand up to his neck to cast a S_onorous_.

"**Citizens of the state! This is not a drill. Sirius Black has been spotted! There are anti-apparation wards up. Please proceed to exit all shops calmly. Students of Hogwarts, please go to the closest Auror, we will be leading you back to Hogwarts in groups."**

"Mr. Potter! You are to come with me immediately!" the Auror said after cancelling the voice-magnifying charm. "The Dark Lord has made you a top priority."

Harry nodded dazedly and allowed himself to be led back to Hogwarts by a contingent of guards, all of their wands raised, keeping him completely covered.

They were met at the gates by the Dark Lord himself.

* * *

><p><strong>So how was that? Voldemort's a jerk huh? Finally getting to see a more cannon side of him. And if it was a bit unclear, after Sirius saw that Harry had noticed him, he apparated into the quidditch supply store in human form as a distraction. That way he could still stay close to Harry, but Harry would have no way of contacting him. Because let's face it, once Voldemort finds out Sirius was seen in Hogsmead, no more Hogsmead weekends.<strong>


	23. Chapter 23: F and M are Boggart Food

**Hi guys, so here's the deal. I'm going back to school next week, and I don't know how much time I'll have for updates. On top of that, I'm moving at the end of the month, and I'm starting a tutoring/babysitting/swimming lessons program at my new apartment complex. So I'll be busy. So what I want to do is update a chapter a day over the next few days because I've FINALLY arrived at a plot arc that I've been wanting write, and I don't want to leave it on a cliff-hanger for half a year (again). Please bear with me if there is an unusually high amount of spelling errors, I'm trying to get these chapters written, and I'm terribly slow at typing.**

**It also came to my attention that I did an abysmal job of explaining Sirius' actions in the last chapter (thank you for pointing it out Ivycloak), so there will be a Sirius POV this chapter to explain some things. **

**Thanks to Noxy the Proxy, Luke, Guest, Cherrie-san, bubzchoc, J, Belletristik Aura, Outofthisworldgal, Ivycloak, casey26334 for the reviews!**

**I don't own Harry Potter. Actually I do. All of the books, in hardback. And the movies, and the posters, and a Gryffindor shirt, even though I'm a Slytherin. But I don't own the copyright to Harry Potter, though, so I suppose it doesn't count.**

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><p>Chapter 23: Fear and Mistrust are Boggart Food<p>

His father looked livid.

No, livid would be an understatement.

Voldemort looked like he was ready to raze Britain.

His crimson eyes locked on Harry's form, roving over his dirtied clothes to his pale face. After assuring himself that his son was unharmed, he turned to the Aurors.

"Thank you, Gentlemen. I will escort my ward up to the castle, return to your comrades, I dare say they could use your help calming the civilians."

They bowed to the Dark Lord— and to Harry's horror— him, and then turned to jog back down the hill towards Hogsmead.

Voldemort's hand on his shoulder tightened ominously.

They had been walking for five minutes before Harry found the courage to speak.

"My Lord—" He began, aware that they were in public, even if it seemed they were alone.

The hand's grip on his shoulder became painful.

Harry winced but ploughed on.

"I'm sorry; I've been trying to apologize—"

"You would do well not to talk of this in public." Voldemort said in a blank voice.

"What do you want me to _do_?!" Harry hissed in a whisper. "I've apologized, I've tried to make things right!"

"I am afraid I do not understand what you are referring to, Mr. Potter." His father returned coldly.

Harry flinched. So was this what their relationship was now? Formal and stiff, with Harry trying to apologize and Voldemort ignoring him?

Harry didn't try to speak again, his thoughts turning bitter.

Stupid.

He was so _stupid_.

Stupid to believe that Voldemort truly wanted him.

He was a prize, and worse, Harry had belived him.

He'd believed the man when he said that he was wanted. That he was _loved_. Voldemort wasn't capable of loving him. Maybe once he had been, but that time had passed.

Voldemort may have even convinced himself that he cared for Harry, but his actions showed the truth.

He was a cold, cruel dictator.

He was a Dark Lord.

He was not a father.

He could never love Harry.

And that was why Harry got the short end of the deal.

Because no matter how much he grew to resent his father, he'd still care about him.

Still love him.

It was sad that it took the realization that his father wouldn't love him back to make Harry admit that he loved his father.

Harry wrenched his shoulder from Voldemort's grip as soon as they were in his office.

And with their loss of contact, Harry vowed that he would never let himself fall for this trap again.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter." Voldemort's voice was blankly polite, the same voice he used on low ranking ministry employees.

Harry sat in the chair farthest from the Dark Lord.

"Have you had contact with Sirius Black?"

Harry looked up. "No." he replied honestly.

"Then you will not be averse to taking Veritaserum to prove that." Voldemort pulled out a small vial filled with a clear, thin potion.

Harry was out of his seat the next moment.

"Like hell I wouldn't!" Harry answered hotly.

"You can take it of your own free will, Mr. Potter, or I can force you."

"You can't do that!"

"I rule Britain; I can do as I please. If you have gone back on our deal, I would like to be aware." Voldemort said calmly.

"I haven't gone back on our deal!"

"Be reasonable, Mr. Potter. I am trying to get answers in the least painful way possible. There are very few who I would care enough to go to such lengths for."

"Oh, of course. You wouldn't want to hurt your precious_ trophy_, would you?" Harry spat out.

Something flickered in Voldemort's eyes for a moment, but before Harry could make sense of what it was, it was covered by irritation.

"Mr. Potter—"

"Stop calling me that! I'm your son!"

Voldemort regarded him coldly. "You have proven beyond doubt that you do not wish be my son. And so I will adhere to your wish Mr. _Potter_. Hadrian Riddle is dead. My son is dead."

Harry thought he felt something inside him break.

It must have shown on his face, because Voldemort's voice had thawed a few degrees when he spoke again.

"But you are my ward, and regardless of whether you believe me or not, I am doing this to protect you."

"Right." Harry's voice came out a whisper.

Wanting to get out of the office, and by proxy away from the man who had just denounced him, and knowing he wouldn't be allowed to leave without complying, Harry snatched the potion from the table and allowed the required three drops to fall onto his tongue.

Calm washed over him, and a sense of uncaring.

All of the problems floated away, all of the pain seemed so insignificant.

Harry would later compare the feeling of Veritaserum to the Imperious Curse.

"What is your name?"

What was his name?

Was he Harry James Potter?

Or Hadrian Thomas Salazar Riddle?

Harry gave the Dark Lord a lazy smile.

"Harry." He answered. Just Harry. Because he didn't know who he was beyond that anymore.

"Have you had any form of contact with Sirius Black since he was released?"

"No."

"Have you had contact with any member of the Rebellion since Sirius Black's release?"

Harry giggled. "No."

Before he knew it Harry was being dosed with the antidote and sent on his way.

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><p>Sirius knew what he'd just done was incredibly stupid.<p>

But Harry was never supposed to see him.

Sirius didn't know the exact details of the deal Harry made with Voldemort, and therefore couldn't afford to come into contact with Harry. He didn't want to endanger Harry, but he couldn't make himself stay away. Not when he knew his godson could be in danger.

Voldemort may care for Harry in his own way, but the man was a sociopath. He was cruel and enjoyed causing pain. And Sirius needed to be there to protect Harry if the man's temper got the better of him.

Which apparently it already had, judging from Harry's appearance.

His godson had looked terrible in that café.

Physically ill.

But Sirius had had little time to dwell on that as Harry had spotted him and come running.

Sirius hadn't been thinking anything but get away from Harry, and _keep_ Harry away. So he did the first thing that popped into his head.

Which was admittedly a stupid idea.

He popped into the quidditch supply store; he couldn't remember the name, and almost immediately pooped out.

But it worked.

The alarms were raised.

Harry was led back to the "safety" of the castle.

And there would be no more Hogsmead weekends for the foreseeable future.

He could also stay close to Harry without his godson being aware of it.

Harry would expect Sirius to have fled, to have apparated far away.

He usually wasn't this reckless after all.

But when it came to Harry, he would be.

Harry was the only thing that mattered to him.

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><p>The Veritaserum was still wearing off when Harry left Voldemort's office. He staggered drunkenly back to the Slytherin common room. He ignored Draco and Daphne in favor of his bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.<p>

Harry woke with a pounding headache and an empty stomach.

But the sound of his stomach grumbling hadn't woken him.

He looked around the dormitory.

It was empty but for him.

His eyes darted toward Blaise's wardrobe.

It was _moving_.

Well, shaking anyway.

Harry slide off the bed warily, wand in hand.

He edged toward the wardrobe.

He twisted the handle and it sprung open to reveal . . .

Nothing.

He huffed and rolled his eyes. He was being paranoid. It was probably just Blaise's kneazle. God knew the annoying thing got everywhere.

Harry turned and his breath caught.

Standing behind him, with a rotting hand reaching for his neck, was a dementor.

The air in the room dropped to freezing.

How had a dementor gotten into Hogwarts?!

Harry pointed his wand at it.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

A sad little puff of white mist out of the tip of his wand was his answer.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

But instead of forming a Patronus, the dementor began to change.

It was a boggart.

And it changed into something much worse.

His father sneered down at him in disdain.

"Well aren't you pathetic, can't even get rid of a boggart." He hissed in disgust.

"You're not real, you-you're a boggart." Harry whispered, backing up. He raised his wand.

"You're such a disappointment, not worthy of my love." The Riddle Boggart spat.

"No," Harry said whispered.

"I should've killed you the moment I found you. You're weak, pathetic. You aren't my son."

"You're not him!" Harry snarled. "_Riddikulus!"_

The spell hit his father—no! It was just a boggart—and nothing happened.

"I don't love you. You're just a trophy, my prize for one-upping the Order. How could I ever love something as pathetic as _you_, you little cretin? You're just a whiny little brat desperate for some affection. It was so easy to fool you, all I had to do was tell you a few sob stories and I had you following me around like a puppy. It was quite entertaining, really. Seeing you plead for my forgiveness. But you've become a nuisance, so—"

"_Riddikulus!"_

His father smiled.

He stepped close to Harry, who stood with his wand raised, hand trembling.

"It's not true." Harry whispered. "You're just a boggart."

The Riddle Boggart smiled. "Oh, how I've wanted to do this."

He backhanded Harry hard across the face.

Harry stumbled back, his lower back hitting a bedpost.

His father smiled and wrapped his hands around Harry's throat.

"You are nothing to me. And I will delight in your death."

As the hands tightened around his throat, Harry's went up to pull at them, dropping his wand to the floor with an audible clatter.

Black spots appeared around the edges of Harry's vision. He realized that he was crying as well.

"_**HELP!"**_ Harry managed in a strangled scream.

He choked as the boggart squeezed as hard as it could. He struggled weakly, kicking at the monster.

"No one is going to save you." The boggart shoved him against the bed hard, making a strangled groan to escape between desperate gasps for air.

Harry couldn't struggle anymore. He didn't have the strength to move.

Just as his vision faded to the point where he could no longer see, he heard the door open.

"Harry?" Draco's voice.

"_**Harry!" **_Draco's voice became frightened.

"_**Riddikulus!" **_

The pressure was suddenly gone, but as Harry gasped for air, he realized he still couldn't breathe.

He heard Draco's frantic yell of, "Daphne! Get Madam Pomfrey! Hurry!" before the blackness finally pulled him under.

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><p><strong>So, that was hard to write. <strong>

**Tell me what you guys think. And I'll see y'all tomorrow!**

**-Ginny**


	24. Chapter 24: Voldemort Interlude:Weakness

**Hey guys, I'm gunna skip the usual intro and get on with the story.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Chapter 24: Weaknesses<p>

The Dark Lord Voldemort was a cruel man.

He was a sociopath and a psychopath.

He delighted in causing pain and fear.

And for the first time in nearly twenty years, he felt remorse.

It was not for the prisoners he tortured, the country he conquered, the innocents he killed, or the atrocities he committed.

It was for the small body lying on the bed, his neck and much of his torso wrapped in bandages. His pale face drawn in discomfort, even in sleep.

His son.

For his son, he felt remorse.

Because this was entirely his fault.

He'd seen Harry's deteriorating state, his desperate pleas for forgiveness. And he'd ignored them. He'd gotten a sick sort of pleasure from watching Harry struggle, and any twinge of guilt was overshadowed by his own vindictive sense of justice. Harry had hurt him, why should he not make the brat suffer? He deserved it for taking his generosity for granted. For taking his love for granted.

It was pathetic that it had taken Harry coming to physical harm to make him realize that he was being exactly what he had tried to convince Harry he was not.

A monster.

He'd seen the Malfoy boy's memories. He'd watched a boggart form of himself try to kill Harry. But almost worse was Harry's reaction to him when he woke.

Harry had been disoriented and panicked, and in hind sight it had been stupid of him to be so much as in the room, let alone trying to calm him.

The object of Harry's worst fear.

The boy woke and quickly became panicked as he gasped for air and found no relief. His airway was too swollen to breathe through. They'd had him under a spell when he'd been asleep to allow him to breath air straight into his lungs, but when he'd woken the spell was broken as he tried to breathe through his mouth.

Things only escalated when he'd come into his son's line of sight.

Harry's eyes had widened in terror and he'd began to try to move away, but he was too weak. Small, pained whimpers left him as he dragged himself across the bed, away from his father.

Harry's eyes were locked on Voldemort, and he couldn't resist the pull from Harry's distraught mind.

It came in flashes, the events leading up to Harry's current condition.

He saw himself, cold and distant as he interrogated Harry.

He saw his own cold fury as he called his poor son a whore.

He felt Harry's distress, saw his increasingly depressed thoughts.

He saw the boggart backhand Harry, sending him into the bedpost.

Watched in despair as the boggart prayed on Harry's greatest fear, one he hadn't been aware of.

His rejection.

The boggart had told Harry that he wasn't loved, wasn't wanted.

"Oh, Harry." He whispered as he looked down at his now sleeping son.

Madam Pomfrey had to spell a sleeping draught into him to calm the boy before he hurt himself more.

And Voldemort's cold, cruel heart broke.

He'd done this to his son.

And he felt terrible.

The boy was his one true weakness, because Voldemort was now sure that he'd do nearly anything to keep Harry with him.

If he were a better man, he'd call off their deal and let Harry go live with Black.

But he was selfish.

He wanted to keep Harry for himself.

He wanted to hide Harry away from the world, at the moment.

He'd grown dependent on his son.

Harry was his most precious treasure, the one he'd go to nearly any length to protect.

But he would rather Harry be with him, even if he wasn't happy.

He realized that up to this point Harry had been a prize to him.

A very cherished, loved trophy.

He'd kept Harry like a bird in a gilded cage, and told himself that Harry would come to love his cage.

Harry had been right in what he'd accused him of.

He did treat him like an object.

But he was going to change that.

Because Harry was so much more than a trophy.

From then on, this relationship would be going both ways.

Harry was his weakness, but unlike any other weakness, he felt no need to get rid of this one.

He would show Harry that he could be a good father.

A great father.

He'd be better than James Potter.

He'd assure his boy's happiness.

And he knew just how to begin doing so.

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><p><strong>So this was more of an interlude than an actual chapter, sorry it's so short. I know Voldemort's OOC, but I needed to express a turning point on Voldemort's part. And in some ways he was still very in character. He's possessive of Harry, and still views him as a weakness, just one he needs to protect instead of destroy. And he wants to make Harry love him more than he loved James Potter.<strong>

**I might update again tonight, not sure yet. But next chapter is when it starts getting really intense. There is also a time skip between the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next chapter, about a month.**

**So tell me what you think!**

**-Ginny**


	25. Chapter 25: Polyjuice

**Hey y'all! I can't believe the reaction last chapter got! And because you're so awesome, I'm updating again!**

**Ivycloak: Thanks! And I'll take that into consideration. But he is more Tom Riddle than Voldemort in this, so he's charismatic and needs to appear to the public cool and collected. It wouldn't really appear in character for him to be outright rude to the Aurors.**

**Outofthisworldgal: that's exactly what I was trying to get across! And also make him realize how fragile Harry is at this point.**

**Ally of Darkness: Thanks!**

**Kamorie: yeah, I've been having trouble balancing Father-Voldemort with Canon-Voldemort. I needed him human enough to love Harry, but not a total mush, because then it wouldn't be Voldemort. It seems I'm doing it to your satisfaction, that warms my heart!**

**Lilalu: I'm terrible, I know ;) I hope this was fast enough so that you got to read it before going on vacation**

**Thanks to forTheLoveOfHades and Cosmos89 for also reviewing!**

**So I'm just reminding that there was a time jump, its super obvious in the chapter, but just making sure. :)**

**I don't own the canon Harry Potter, but I do own the plot to A Twist in Destiny, so plagiarize and I'll hunt you down and murder you with a pool noodle. It can be done *smiles creepily***

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><p>Chapter 25: Polyjuice<p>

Harry was dreading the Christmas Holidays.

Two weeks at Slytherin Manor with no one but Voldemort for company.

Joy.

Over the last month Voldemort seemed to have deemed Harry worthy of his affection once more. Too bad Harry wasn't planning on forgiving him anytime soon. He'd made it quite clear his true feelings toward Harry. He didn't trust him, didn't care about the pain he caused, and didn't love Harry.

The man's attempts at reestablishing their relationship was becoming annoying, in Harry's mind.

If Harry so much as sneezed, Voldemort seemed to know about, and was there to question him about his health.

Harry had seen no point in continuing their correspondence by owl, but Voldemort still sent him letters and gift weekly. It disgusted him that Voldemort thought he could be bought.

The few times he'd been in the man's presence had been strained and uncomfortable for both of them.

Harry's emotions were so conflicted when he had to spend time with Voldemort, he really didn't know what to do.

There was plenty of anger and frustration there, and those were the emotions Harry told himself he felt most prominently. But there was also hurt, so much hurt. And confusion. Why had Voldemort suddenly begun making such an effort? Was he trying to lure Harry back into his false sense of security? Was he guilty about what had happened with the boggart?

Harry felt his cheeks warm at the reminder.

It was embarrassing, knowing that both Draco and Voldemort had seen his greatest fear. Rejection. By a man who had already rejected him.

Even if said man seemed to want to take it back.

But worst was the longing.

Seeing what he could have had with his father hurt, since it had all been a lie.

It had to be, didn't it? Voldemort wouldn't have turned on him so quickly if he truly felt any love for his son. Harry had said some harsh things, yes, but so had Voldemort. And Harry always forgave him.

Not this time.

Even though Harry desperately wanted to give into that guiding hand constantly on his shoulder, to the fierce pride in Voldemort's letters when Harry came out at the top of every class in his year, and the hand in his hair when he came to in the hospital wing after the boggart incident, he couldn't.

He couldn't chance being hurt again.

Because it had _hurt_.

Seeing the man he'd begun to view as a second chance turn into a cold, cruel monster that liked the broken look in Harry's eyes had hurt almost as much as thinking about his parents.

It aggravated him to no end that he still felt that swell of warmth in his chest when Voldemort looked at him with pride, or laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Couldn't his stupid heart understand that it was all fake?

Voldemort hadn't even apologized. He'd just started acting as if it had never happened, and began treating Harry like his perfect son again.

It was worse than when Harry had first struck the deal with him. Because Harry now knew that nothing could come of it.

Harry wasn't so much wary around the Dark Lord as withdrawn. He wasn't actively spiteful, but they weren't on friendly terms. At least not on Harry's end.

He flinched away from the man's touch if he wasn't expecting it, and he'd seen the sadness in the Dark Lord's eyes when he'd done it the first time. He hated that he'd felt guilty about it.

And he'd been having nightmares.

He'd relive the boggart attacking him, being captured by the Aurors, he and his parents' imprisonment, James Potter's screams, Lily's tears, and his helplessness.

He'd taken to warding his curtains with a soundproofing spell so he wouldn't wake his roommates.

He couldn't get sleeping potions from Pomfrey, the news would certainly get back to Voldemort, and then he'd have a "concerned father" on his hands.

The only bright spot in Harry's life at the moment were his friends and his defense lessons. He and Draco had grown rather close; the blonde was surprisingly supportive in the face of Harry's "guardian problem".

Harry got the feeling that Draco had a fair share of experience with daddy problems himself. Lucius Malfoy may have been a family man, but he didn't exactly seem the _cuddly_ type.

Harry snorted at the image of a cuddly Lucius Malfoy.

He and Daphne hadn't really talked about the whole relationship business, but they weren't awkward around each other, and at the moment that was all Harry had asked for.

Harry had become somewhat of a beacon of hope to the muggleborns.

His friendship with Hermione Granger was a popular form of gossip around the school. The more bigoted Purebloods sneered at it and only held their tongues because of his connection to the Dark Lord. The more open-minded Purebloods thought it was "cute" that the Great Harry Potter was kind to the poor muggleborns. The Gryffindors began to think of him as a surrogate lion, and the muggleborns saw him as some type of savior.

He'd even been told by Slughorn that he was the epitome of what Hogwarts was supposed to be.

He'd taken it with a grain of salt at the time, but realized that Slughorn may have had a point.

He had friends in every house, of every blood status, and he got on pretty well with everyone.

The Gryffs liked his kindness toward muggleborns. The Ravenclaw were content to study alongside him. He'd even made a friend among the wise, an odd girl in fourth year by the name of Luna Lovegood. The Puffs thought he was the friendliest Snake to ever walk the halls. And most the Slytherins respected him.

Harry wondered if Slughorn realized what he'd said could be considered treason.

This wasn't the way Hogwarts was supposed to work. Not anymore anyway.

But who knew, maybe Harry could change that?

His defense lessons were brilliant.

Barty had become a sort of mentor to him, and Harry imagined this was what it might feel like to have an older brother.

Barty truly was brilliant, and a good teacher.

Harry had made leaps and bounds in his defensive strategies in the month they'd been having lessons.

All of this he thought on as he rode on the Hogwarts Express toward Kings Cross Station.

He'd given Draco and Daphne their presents already.

A broom-care kit and a manual on quidditch moves for Draco.

A pretty set of hairpins with the Greengrass seal engraved on them, and a formal invitation to the Yuletide Ball.

_Lady Daphne Alexandra Greengrass,_

_Lord Harry James Potter, Heir to House Potter and House Slytherin, requests that you would do him the honor of allowing him to escort you to the Yuletide Ball on December the Twenty-Fourth. Please find enclosed the portkey that will bring you to Slytherin Manor on the night of the ball. The portkey will activate when you give an affirmative replay._

_Cordially,_

_Lord Harry Potter_

_P.S. Sorry about the formal letter, Daph, no choice there. But would you like to accompany me? And wear the hairpins I got you? I hope you like them, you've been complaining about hair in your face for a while, so I thought you'd like them._

_Hoping you'll agree,_

_Harry_

He hadn't gotten anything for Voldemort.

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><p>The Hogwarts Express rolled into platform 9 ¾ and Harry sighed.<p>

Time to face the music.

Or Voldemort.

Harry exited the train with Draco and Daphne, talking politely with both families for the exceptable amount of time, then turned to look for Voldemort.

Just as he saw a familiar face and stormy gray eyes.

"Sirius?" Harry whispered.

The man made eye contact with him from under the cloak he was hiding under and turned, walking through the barrier into the muggle world.

Harry pushed through the crowd.

He followed Sirius through the barrier and through the throng of people.

"Sirius? Sirius! What are you doing, you could be caught!" he hissed furiously as he came up behind his godfather.

Sirius didn't answer, and instead disappeared into a closed waiting area.

Harry caught the door before it closed and slipped inside.

"Sirius?"

The man turned and pulled off his hood, a large, wolfish grin on his face.

"Prongslet."

"Sirius!" Harry barreled into his godfathers arms.

Strong, familiar arms wrapped around him and Sirius rested his head on Harry's dark curls.

Harry pushed back.

"What are you doing here? You could have been caught?!"

"I'm fine pup. I had to see you though."

"But—" Harry began.

Sirius rested his hand on Harry's cheek.

"I'm fine. You don't look fine though. What has he_ done_ to you?"

"I'm ok. But you have to go Sirius, before my father—"

"Your father, Harry—your father is dead." Sirius said, concern coloring his voice.

"Not James, Padfoot. Voldemort! He'll have you executed if he finds you!"

"Th-the Dark Lord is your f-father?" Sirius turned pale.

Harry pulled himself from Sirius' arms.

"You know that Sirius . . ."

Harry's eyes widened and he quickly stumbled back.

"Sirius knows that. Sirius _knows_ that."

Sirius stumbled on words, taking a step forward, but Harry noticed his hand had gone towards his pocket. Towards his wand.

Sirius never kept his wand in his pocket.

He had a wand holster.

And that seemed to cement it.

"You aren't Sirius."

Harry ran.

He ducked as a _Stupefy_ flew past him, singing his hair.

"Oh, come on, Little Lion, I only want to send you back to your Godfather."

Harry jolted, his eyes widening.

Only one person called him Little Lion.

Harry felt the spell hit him only a moment after the realization hit.

The only person that called him Little Lion . . .

Was Barty Crouch.

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><p><strong>Dun dun dun. So the action begins!<strong>

**Tell me what you guys think.**

**Blame my friend if it sucked, I'm at my friend's house as I write this, she's distracting me with roosterteeth.**

**-Ginny**


	26. Chapter 26: Cursed Memories

**Hey guys, sorry this is so late. And that I left it on a cliffhanger. So, anyway . . .**

**raven1493: I PMed you, thanks for your continued support!**

**seiyan13: he does. Bad author! Forgetting your own stuff! Thanks for pointing that out.**

**GypsiOfOlypmus: thanks so much! And that's complicated, because while Harry might accept his father, he'll never be able to accept some of the things he does.**

**Tonks94: Thanks! And sorry it's so late, AP classes are killing me!**

**Chloe908090: neither, you'll see**

**KK: you're my favorite person on the earth right now, for telling me to take my time! THANK YOU!**

**HuskyWalker: not quite, but you'll see. I'm gunna fangirl now. Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaase update Little Seer. **

**Outofthisworldgal: ok, so your guess is a bit off. You'll see**

**Ok, guy, so here's the deal. I'm a junior in high school. Junior year is the busiest. I'm taking a lot of AP classes. I'm trying to get letters of Rec. I'm trying to decide where I want to apply to College. I've got a job. I'm in a sport. I'm learning to drive. In short, I'm REALLY busy. Now imagine you come home one day and do four hours of homework. You open your email and you read an angry PM from a reader telling you that you don't update quickly enough. Would that make you pissed? Yes? **

**I do my best to update, I really do. But this is my Me-Time too, and I don't get much of it anymore. I'd rather post a chapter I'm proud of than one I think is crappy just for the sake of updating. So while the school year is in session, just expect updates to be sporadic and few and far between. My goal is one of two a month, but I can't promise anything.**

**That being said, THANK YOU SO MUCH all of you for being such great followers. 404 reviews are way more than what I thought this fic would get, and I'm not even half through the fic yet.**

**I don't own Harry Potter. I do own this plotline and the development of the characters for this story. But the Beautiful canon belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

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><p>Chapter 26: Imprecor Memoria<p>

Harry didn't even remember waking. It was as if he'd blacked out and then come back to himself without realizing he'd been gone. He'd been _Eneverated_. He'd been woken from the Stunning Spell enough times to know what it felt like. It was a disconcerting feeling, and left you feeling incoherent afterwards. He hated it.

It was also why he wasn't aware of the other person in the room until he was being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse.

A scream ripped itself from his throat, and he kicked and bucked in the ropes binding him. There was the roar of an angry spell in a very familiar voice and the spell cut off abruptly with a high feminine shriek.

"Barty?" his voice was weak and hoarse from screaming.

The name seemed to trigger the memories.

Oh God, _Oh God_.

Barty Crouch had kidnapped him.

His voice had apparently too weak to be heard, because Barty continued to speak as if Harry wasn't even there. When had Barty started talking?

"What are you doing Bella? The agreement was to get him out of the way, not torture him!"

Bella? Bellatrix Lestrange?

"What better way to get him out of the way than to have our fun, and then be done with him?"

"We're not going to kill him!" Barty's voice was indignant, the edge of panic clear.

"And why not!" Bella cackled. "It's not as if he can fight back, and we've the time."

"No we don't! The Dark Lord must already know he's gone, it's been hours! Bella, if the Dark Lord finds us—"

"Fine, we'll sell him back to the scum the Dark Lord saved him from like planned."

"Bella, listen to me, will you!" Barty snarled.

Bella went quiet at the panic in Barty's voice.

"We should just leave him! Obliviate him and go."

"After all of this! I think not, you little rat—"

"He's the Dark Lord's son!"

All was silent.

Barty continued. "He let it slip when I grabbed him. The boy is the Dark Lord's flesh and blood! Have you any idea of what the Dark Lord would do to us if he were to find it was us and not the Rebels that took him!"

"This gives us more reason to kill him! The Dark Lord would be livid at his death; with his rage he would smite the last of the Rebellion and take France! Our Lord would be a site to behold!"

Harry regretted opening his mouth the moment he did it.

"He'd know it wasn't the Rebels. They'd never hurt me."

Barty and Bellatrix whirled on him.

"Is that so little traitor? And why is that? Why would the Rebellion protect their Enemy's spawn? I had wondered why my mutt of a cousin was so fond of you."

Harry spat at her feet.

Next thing he knew his head was connecting with the wall as she backhanded him.

"Don't want to tell Aunty Bella? Alright, how about you show me then? I've always been fond of this particular spell, the Dark Lord created it after all."

"Bella, what—"

"We used it a lot during the War you see. It was designed for especially . . . difficult prisoners. It allowed us to see their memories. It had some side effects, off course. They were usually driven mad. They had to relive their entire lives, you see. We could speed it up, get to the good parts, but sometimes we just liked to torment them. Can you guess how we did that Harry dear?" she asked sweetly in a voice that seemed like a sick imitation of Mrs. Weasley.

"We made them relive their worst memories. Over and over again."

Harry's eyes were wide in terror and resignation.

"Bella, don't—"

"_Imprecor Memoria!"_

* * *

><p>Voldemort had known his son was in danger the moment the first spike of fear coursed through Harry. He reached out to the monitoring spells, to find is location. He was a King's Cross, but the Dark Lord couldn't see him from where he stood on the crowded platform of 9 ¾. He allowed the tracking spell to lead him towards the old barrier into the Muggle World, and passed through it.<p>

A second, larger spike of fear went through Harry. Voldemort reached out for Harry's mind just as the spells registered that Harry was now unconscious. A moment later Harry disappeared from his senses. The spells weren't working.

And Harry was gone.

* * *

><p>This wasn't supposed to happen.<p>

That was all Barty could think as he propped the trembling, incoherent boy up against the wall and severed his bindings in a vain attempt to make him more comfortable. Bella turned from the cloud of mist she had been watching with rapture, which showed a younger version of Harry watching the man he thought to be his father as he was tortured to death. She sneered at him.

"Why are you untying him?"

"It's not as if he can run away, is it? There's no need to keep him trussed up like a cow."

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He genuinely liked Harry. He hadn't planned on hurting him more than absolutely necessary. They were supposed to hand him over to the Rebels. The Dark Lord was supposed to think that Harry had gone willingly with Sirius Black. He was supposed to be angry, supposed to strike the Rebels down. He wouldn't know off the truth until The Rebels were destroyed and The Dark Lord reigned supreme. Harry would be devastated (Barty had gathered that Harry had friends among the rebels even before this mess) but he would be alive. And if their relationship didn't mend, well it was for the best. The Dark Lord was weaker with Harry around. Softer.

And that wouldn't do.

But neither would letting Harry go on like this. It would drive him insane.

* * *

><p><strong>So I'm feeling in a particularly author-y mood today, I think I'll do another chapter. Sound good?<strong>

**So what did you think? Good, bad?**

**This chapter was in honor of all the US veterans, you guys are amazing! Love ya Dad! **


	27. Chapter 27: Act the Part

**Hey, so here's the next chapter! It might be a bit short, sorry**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 27: Acting the Part<p>

Lord Voldemort watched on the Muggle television screen as a man polyjuiced to look like Sirius Black grabbed the unconscious Harry and disappeared. The damned thing didn't have sound, so he had no idea what was being said.

The Magical World was completely separated from the Muggles, that was except for when the Dark Lord wished otherwise.

Now was one of those _very_ rare times. The first since the Separation Act_,_ in fact.

The Muggle government was terrified of him, as they should be. They knew they couldn't handle war with the Wizarding World on top of the economic crash and wars overseas.

So when he popped into the Muggle Prime Minister's office and demanded that he get access to the CCTV camera footage at King's Cross railway for the last four hours, he was all too eager to comply.

After watching Harry and the kidnapper disappear, he growled in agitation and apparated away. It wouldn't do to lose his temper and start a War with the Muggles.

Wizards may be the superior beings, but Muggles had Nuclear Warheads.

He was back in his office, pacing, when Lucius came in.

"My Lord." Lucius bowed lowly.

"You had better have news of the boy, Lucius." The Dark Lord said in that deadly calm voice that Lucius remembered from the days following Esella's death and Harry's kidnapping. A shiver threatened to race down his spine.

He was not keen on being at his Master's mercy when he was in this mood.

"We've questioned the boy's friends, including my own son. He never breathed a word to any off them about Sirius Black. They swore it over _Veritaserum_. All men on duty the night of his discovery and the Rebels' apprehension have been brought in and checked, the memory charms are still in place."

"So you're telling me you've found nothing?"

"We are following all available leads, My Lord."

"See that you do. I'm putting you in charge of the investigation Lucius, do not fail me. I swear on my magic that if Harry returns to me as a corpse, your son will share his fate. Am I clear?"

Voldemort could see the fear and pain in Lucius's eyes. "Yes, My Lord."

* * *

><p>Harry was screaming again.<p>

The sound ground on his sanity.

"Shhh, Harry." He murmured, more to himself than the boy.

It had been a day since he'd taken Harry from train station. And Harry's third round of reliving his life. Sometimes he was quiet. Sometimes he even smiled, but usually he looked on the verge of tears. Barty hadn't known a boy so young could make such heart wrenching sounds.

But the cries he shouted as he relived the death of his adoptive parents, the early days with the Dark Lord and the recent ones, were those of a child who had lost everything but his sanity. And his sanity was hanging on by a thread.

Barty didn't know how to reverse the spell.

He couldn't stop it.

But he feared that he would lose his own sanity if he had to listen to Harry's pleas much longer.

* * *

><p>It had been two days since he had reported to the Dark Lord.<p>

Two days since his Master had threatened his precious son's life.

The Dark Lord was getting impatient.

In a way Lucius understood. The Dark Lord couldn't drop everything and search for Harry as Lucius was sure he wanted to. Not without sending the people into a panic and endangering Harry further. Whoever it was that had kidnapped the unofficial Prince, it wasn't the Rebels. And so they couldn't tip the Rebels off that Harry was missing by trying to find him publicly. The story of Harry's kidnap would not be released until Harry was safely ensconced in the Dark Lord's manor once more, hopefully unharmed.

Lucius was getting desperate, running out of leads.

And that was why he was here, standing on Barty Crouch Jr.'s porch with a search warrant.

The man had been conspicuously absent since Harry's disappearance. He was due to be on vacation abroad, but Lucius felt obligated to check.

He off course came up with nothing.

The Aurors stormed the house and found nothing that could implicate Crouch.

Lucius sighed and apparated back to his office, in search of more likely leads.

* * *

><p>It had been a week since Harry's kidnap, and the Dark Lord was quickly being reduced to a homicidal psychopath bent punishing any who annoyed him. And creating a personal hell for whoever had dared to <em>touch<em> his son.

His inability to go search for Harry himself made him short-tempered and quick to torture. He'd tortured eight prisoners into insanity and fired his publicist for suggesting they go public on Harry's kidnapping.

If Lucius didn't find his son soon . . .

* * *

><p><em>This is suicide.<em>

Barty knew it. He was probably going to die. If he was lucky.

But he just couldn't do it anymore.

Being locked away in Azkaban would be preferable to hearing Harry continue to scream. At least then he wouldn't be hearing innocent children scream.

* * *

><p>"Minister, we've found him!"<p>

Lucius' head snapped up.

"Where?"

Crouch's manor, there was an address written down, supposedly the cottage he'd be staying at for vacation. But it's a warehouse in London. We've captured Crouch, and located Prince Harry."

"Why was I not told sooner?"

"We feared Crouch would have a mole in the department, we had to act quickly."

"And Harry? What is his condition?"

"Unharmed . . . physically."

"And mentally?" Lucius ground out.

"I think that might be better suited to seeing in person, Minister."

* * *

><p>The Dark Lord stalked down the Hallways of St. Mungo's, toward the Mental Health Ward. Lucius had sent a Patronus ahead as soon as he got news of Harry's rescue. And as a result, Lucius was there only moments before him.<p>

When they got to Harry's room, they couldn't even see him at first, so thick was the flurry of nurses fluttering about the bed. They were quick to step aside as they noticed him.

Harry was propped up against a mountain of pillows. He wore a plain, faded blue hospital gown. A healer was hovering over him, holding a wand spouting golden mist over Harry's chest and keeping track of his pulse with the other hand.

His son's face was turned the other way, though Voldemort thought his eyes were open. Surrounded by the fluffy white pillows and starched blankets, Harry looked small and pale, his dark curls a stark contrast.

The healer sighed and stepped back, finally bowing to Voldemort. The Dark Lord only had eyes for his son.

"What's wrong with him?"

"The _Imprecor Memoria_ curse, My Lord. We've broken it, but he isn't responding to stimulus. I fear he has withdrawn into his mind, and his occlumency shields are up. Trying to break them down could have catastrophic consequences."

"Get out."

"My Lord?" the healer asked, confused.

"Everyone out!" the Dark Lord snarled in annoyance.

"My Lord, you aren't going to—"

"I'll do as I please! Leave or I'll have you arrested for the direct disobedience of your Lord."

The room cleared quickly.

He came to sit on the bed, his son's face towards him. Harry's eyes were open, but dull. Hesitantly, he cupped his son's face. No reaction.

"My Harry."

He slowly reached out for Harry's mind and hit the expected wall, but to his surprise they fell away a moment later. Harry recognized him, at least on a subconscious level.

He was standing nowhere. Literally. There was only fog, no walls, no floor. He walked further into the fog and images began to form, pale imprints of memories.

He didn't dwell on them, half dreading what he would see should he look closer, half hoping Harry would someday trust him enough to tell him himself.

He came across the only solid object he'd seen so far a while later.

It was a door, but a small one, almost like to a broom closet, or a cupboard . . .

He opened it slowly, and light spilled in.

There was a boy inside. A boy with dark, curling hair and big green eyes. He couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Harry."

The boy looked at him with eyes wide with fear and spilling over with tears. There was no recollection. The boy had no idea who he was.

"Please." The boys whispered in a small, pitiful whisper.

"What is it Harry?" Voldemort asked in a calm, low voice.

"Please leave me alone! I didn't mean to!" the boy's voice was trembling.

"Didn't mean to what Harry?" he asked in confusion.

"I didn't mean to kill mummy and daddy." He whimpered, and broke out into sobs.

The Dark Lord was out of his league. He didn't know how to comfort a small child. But he would try. He would do exactly what he had hoped and prayed that his father would do when he'd been young and naïve. He'd be there.

He pulled the boy into his arms, stroking his hair for a moment before cupping his son's face—smaller than he was used to, more round—and looked into his son's glistening eyes.

"Their deaths are not your fault. You are a child, they were adults. They knew what being a part of the rebellion entailed."

"But if I hadn't stayed—"

"They still may have been caught. You had no part in it. _It wasn't you're fault_."

They stayed like that for a while, before the Dark Lord asked, "Do you want to leave this cupboard now?"

The boy shook his head incessantly. "There are monsters out there!"

"You don't worry about them; I'll protect you my Little Serpent."

"Promise Daddy?"

He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Harry had called him Daddy.

He cupped his boy's face once more.

"I promise son. Always."

There was a rushing in his ears, and suddenly he was sitting on the hospital bed in St. Mungo's once more. The hand he held in his twitched.

He looked up just as Harry's eyes opened.

Harry smiled at him tentatively, and Voldemort knew he remembered everything.

"Harry, how are you feeling?"

"Tired," he murmured as he yawned, his eyes fluttered closed.

"Sleep, Harry."

" ? Love you."

"I love you too, son. Always."

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	28. Chapter 28: Open Wounds

**Hey, guys. Remember me? I'm so, so sorry for not updating. I've had half of this written since like November but I just haven't had the time or the muse to write it. I got hit with a need to write today though, so here it is. I've had a lot going on lately what with AP exams, grades, SAT and ACT, deciding what I want to do for college and life, sports, a job, community service, a break up, and two friends that I'm really worried about.**

**Thanks to everyone for your support!**

**Note: Harry will be going through a hard time now, so he's going to be a bit ooc. Remember that he bottled up all of the things he was feeling about James and Lily's deaths, then everything with Voldemort. The Nightmare curse brought all of that up and reinforced it, made him relive it over and over again. So he's going to be a bit fragile, very depressed, and very dependent on Voldemort for a while. That's not to say he won't still act like Harry, but he'll be learning that it is ok to rely on other people. That was the main point in this plot arc. Making Harry realize that he can rely on others without being weak, and make Tom realize that he needs to be a father in more than name if he truly wants to keep Harry.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: So not so much in this chapter, but there are triggers in the next few chapters! All of Harry's reactions are GENUINE. They are based on research and personal experience. I've lost family members and bottled it up, so I know how unhealthy it is. I've had a suicidal friend, so I know how far depression can go, so even though Harry WILL NOT be suicidal, his depression is based from personal experience. If you know anyone who you think is considering suicide, talk to them and get them help. SUICIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER! There are people who love you, you aren't alone, and if you think that no one would care, YOU ARE WRONG.**

**Sorry, I got a bit emotional there; it's still a bit raw.**

**Onward, then. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. No infringement intended.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 28: Open Wounds<p>

_He cupped his boy's face once more._

"_I promise son. Always."_

_There was a rushing in his ears, and suddenly he was sitting on the hospital bed in St. Mungo's once more. The hand he held in his twitched._

_He looked up just as Harry's eyes opened._

_Harry smiled at him tentatively, and Voldemort knew he remembered everything._

"_Harry, how are you feeling?"_

"_Tired," he murmured as he yawned, his eyes fluttered closed._

"_Sleep, Harry."_

"_Kay. Dad? Love you."_

"_I love you too, son. Always."_

_Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face._

Unfortunately, Harry's next waking wasn't so peaceful.

He darted up from his sleeping position with a gasp, covered in sweat. He dreamed that he was locked in a cupboard, and that there was a monster banging on the other side. He hadn't had that dream since he was five; in fact he'd forgotten about it. But the curse had dragged up every nightmare he'd ever had, whether he'd remembered them or not, and made him relive them. Every nightmare, every insecurity, every _second_ locked in that room with his dying parents, he relived. Multiple times.

His father returned to the room, from wherever he'd been. He stalled in the doorway for only a moment, before walking back to the chair parked next to Harry's bed, and sitting. He moved to lay a hand on Harry's back, likely an attempt at comfort. Before he could think, Harry flinched away violently.

The disappointment on his father's face would have been visible even to a Gryffindor.

"Dad, I—"

His father smiled a bit sadly at him before shaking his head.

"It's alright Harry. The healers informed me you might be a bit . . . adverse to touch for a while."

"No, just, just . . . warn me."

"Of course." The silence was awkward.

"Dad, can we . . . talk? About before?" Harry's voice was meek and quiet, afraid of angering his father, and though he didn't want to admit it, afraid to be left alone.

Voldemort's face was unreadable, but he nodded.

"I . . . um . . . I'm sorry." Harry mumbled at his lap, suddenly very interested in his hands.

"You shouldn't have run off like that."

He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

"Can you blame me?" Harry's voice was strained. "You wouldn't even look at me!" it came out as a strangled laugh.

"Harry."

"No! Look I get it, I hurt your feelings, but that doesn't mean you can just give up on me!"

"I've already apologized for that."

"Not in words! This isn't a damn fairy tale! You don't get to save the damsel in distress and everything is automatically ok. I'm sorry. I'm trying _so hard_ to forget it, to forgive you. And I have, but every time I think about it I just, I just can't! I want to, I really do. I want to just forget it ever happened, but I can't when I know it could happen again."

"It won't," the sincerity was there, but Harry knew he couldn't keep that promise.

"You've said that before. I know you care about me, and that you're trying. But you keep breaking your promises."

Voldemort stared at him hard, his jaw tight. "I can't promise I'll never break another promise I give you. But I can promise that I won't break this one. I love you Harry, that has never been the problem, you've never been the problem. I almost lost you at King's Cross, and that made me realize that I've been going about it the wrong way. I need to act the part if I want it. I can't change my ways, I'm still ambitious, and I'll still do anything necessary to keep my power. I'll also do everything in my power to keep you. I'm a selfish man Harry, and I can't change that. But everything I do concerning you, good or bad, is because I love you, and I want to be a father to you."

"You think I don't know that? It's just, some of the things you do—I can't—"

"Are you afraid of me Harry?" The question was honest, and his father looked pained behind his mask of indifference.

"No, yes, I don't know. There are times when I think I could never be afraid of you, and then there are times when I'm absolutely terrified of what you'll do." Harry murmured.

Voldemort wanted so badly to say that he had no reason to be, but he couldn't. Because their relationship was destructive, for both of them, and they'd both been burned.

"So what is it that you want Harry? Have I ever even asked you that before? What do _you_ want?"

Harry thought on it. What did he want? He wanted to stay with his dad. He wanted to see his friends, both Rebel and those from Hogwarts. He wanted to move on and heal from James and Lily Potters deaths. He wanted his godfather. He wanted the war to be over. He wanted to be around his dad without the almost constant fear buzzing in the background, always wondering when the bomb would go off. He didn't want to hide anymore. What he said surprised even him.

"I want to be a family. A real family. I don't want to be 'Harry Potter, the poor little orphan the Dark Lord adopted' anymore. I don't want to be 'Harry Potter the Rebel' either. I want to be Harry Potter, and Hadrian Riddle, and whoever the hell else I can become. I want to be a son James and Lily Potter could be proud of, and I want to be your son, too, and make you proud of me. I want peace. I want my godfather. I want my friends. I want to be able to make my own decisions, without you breathing down my neck. I just want to be Harry without anyone expecting me to be anything else."

"You're saying you want everyone to know the truth?"

"I want to be myself. I've been so confused on who that was for such a long time. I didn't know if I was Harry Potter or Hadrian Riddle. I didn't know if I was a Rebel or the Dark Lord's son. But I've realized I'm all of that."

"You want to come out to the public?"

"Yes, preferably in a way that won't get me killed on the spot."

A smile broke out on his dad's face. "That would be rather a pity, after all the work I've put into you."

"Oh, ha-ha."

"Are you sure, there's no going back once we've started."

"I'm sure. I need this."

"I'll schedule a press conference once you're healed."

"When can I come home?" Harry asked eagerly, he hated hospitals.

"Probably not for another week. The healers are worried about your core fluctuating, a byproduct of the curse. They want to keep you here until they're sure you won't suffer a relapse."

Harry scrunched him nose, "A whole week?"

Voldemort chuckled, "You'll live. Get some rest Harry, you look terrible." He rose from his transfigured armchair and squeezed his son's hand, starting for the door.

Harry's slightly panicked voice stopped him.

"Do you have to go?"

"I was going to arrange the press conference . . ."

"Oh, th-that's fine then." His face was flushed with embarrassment, but the panic was still alight in his eyes.

He sat back down. "I'll stay till you fall asleep."

"You don't have too, it's just that . . ."

"What's bothering you?"

"I know it irrational, but I don't want to be alone again. I—I had nightmares about you leaving me, or getting hurt, or—"

"Harry, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"What about those promises you can't keep?"

"This one I can, don't worry." His father assured.

* * *

><p><strong>There you have it. Chapter 28. Sorry if it was a bit erratic as far as emotions go, but that's how I get when I'm upset, so that's how I write Harry. Though using my 17 year old self as a model for a teenage boy's emotions might not be such a good idea. Plus that's how my friend on antidepressants acts when he doesn't take his meds, so there. Whatever. I'm rambling. I probably won't update until school is over, so expect a chapter in about a month!<strong>

**Thank you guys for all the support!**

**Review!**

**-Ginny**


	29. Chapter 29: You Are Hope, Harry

**Hey guys, so guess what? I'm no longer on hiatus! You have all been so amazing and understanding, and that's helped me realize that I really love writing for you guys! Plus now that I'm out of school I'm not so stressed. I got a 4 on my AP US History exam! (It's a big deal). So anyway thank you so, so much for keeping me going. A reviewer brought it my attention that I've been a bit inconsistent with some details of the story so I want to clear things up. Madam Pomphrey IS at the Rebel Base, so just ignore that time I said she was a Hogwarts. And as for Luna, she is at Hogwarts. The way I rationalize this is that a) she is a pureblooded witch and b) in the Deathly Hallows Xeno Lovegood betrayed the trio in an attempt to get Luna back, so the way I see it is that Xeno cares more for his daughter's safety than the rebellion. Sorry for the discrepancies, and thank you Nilamalin for pointing them out.**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Chapter 29: You are Hope, Harry<p>

Much to Harry's disappointment, he'd spent his Christmas in captivity. He did, however, get to celebrate it.

He woke then next morning to Draco, Daphne, Neville, and surprisingly Hermione sitting rather awkwardly around the hospital room. They all had Christmas presents sitting in their laps (Draco had two) and Neville was fidgeting nervously with the bow on his, loosening it unconsciously.

Hermione, ever the observant young witch, was the first to notice the fluttering of eyelashes and the twitching of fingers atop the blankets.

"Harry, are you awake?"

Harry pried tired eyes open and nodded, sitting up slowly. He looked around, surprised and a bit dazed from the potions, and smiled wearily at his friends.

"Oh, Harry!" his vision was suddenly obscured by Hermione's bushy hair and ratty red pullover sweater. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her shoulder. It was nice, familiar. Comforting.

He heard a disdainful sniff (Draco had too much class to snort).

"How undignified." Definitely Draco.

He heard a dull _thunk_ next, and a resounding "ouch!" from Draco, followed by a happy squeal from Daphne as he was enveloped in another layer of overexcited teenage girl. Harry chuckled and lifted his head. Smiling and nodding at Draco and Neville in turn.

The girls backed up, Daphne smiling a bit embarrassedly at Hermione and Hermione's lips twitched shyly.

_Please, God, let them become friends._ Harry thought silently.

"What are you guys doing here?" Harry inquired happily. It seemed to have been forever since he'd last seen them.

"Well you had the audacity to miss Christmas, so we're making it up to you. We're even cohabitating, see?"

Harry snorted, "Good job mate, thanks for lowering your almighty self to spend time with us mere peasants."

There was a giggle and Hermione covered her mouth embarrassedly, eyes wide. Draco turned as red as his pallor allowed, which was surprisingly quite red. Daphne laughed, breaking the tension.

_This is the most awkward Christmas party I've ever been too._

"Anyway presents!" Neville exclaimed, plopping a blue and silver wrapped present into his lap. Harry noticed that the snowmen printed on the wrapping paper were charmed to dance.

He ripped at the paper with fervor, much to the amusement of his friends and earning another comment "oh, honestly Harry" from Draco.

It was a book on Herbology.

"I—I know it's not really your thing, but there's all kind of helpful plants in there. Poisonous ones, and ones for healing potions, and—" Neville stammered.

"No, Neville, thank you. I love it; you know how much I like to educate myself on new things." Harry smiled reassuringly.

"And yet you're still an idiot," Draco commented offhandedly as he snatched the book from Harry's hands, leafing through it.

"This book is actually quite Dark, Longbottom." Draco raised an eyebrow at him

Neville's eyes narrowed slightly and he straightened up. "Yes, well I've found that dark magic is sometimes more effective."

Draco's eyes widened just slightly, before he turned back to harry, handed the book back to him and replied, "maybe you're not as useless at picking friends as I thought."

Harry snorted.

"Oh! And this is from Luna, she wanted to come but she's out of the country with her dad chasing some creature or other." Neville said this with a fond smile. He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Harry. It was a necklace, unwrapped. The chain was silver, and a small purple gem sat flat against his palm. It was shaped into an odd symbol that was a bit hard to make out (it resembled an intricately woven blob more than anything else).

"She made it herself, said it would ward off mandybats."

"And those are what exactly?"

"I haven't the faintest."

Harry shrugged and slipped the charm over his head, it dangled a bit below Daphne's. "Well now I'm protected from them."

The rest of the presents went like this. Draco got him a package of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans (well you haven't had them before; your childhood must have been terrible) a broom cleaning kit (for the broom Daphne got you. Ouch Daphne, was that really necessary).

"This is from my Father, apparently he likes you." It was a handsome, well-made wand holster.

Daphne, of course, got him a broom. It was called a Firebolt and apparently it was an amazing broom. There had never been enough room to fly at the camp, so Harry was quite excited to try it out.

Hermione's gift was last.

"Well, it's no Firebolt, but here." She handed a small box to him.

"Hermione, you didn't have too—"

"I wanted to. I earn some money doing odd jobs at the Home over holiday, it's fine really."

The box was green and the ribbon wrapped around it was gold. He pulled the bow loose carefully and lifted the lid, peeking inside.

The scarf was beautiful. The base color was black, but there were thin strips of horizontal color woven in. The strips were paired in twos: green and silver, red and gold, blue and white, yellow and grey, repeat. The Hogwarts crest sat proudly on the edge of one side.

"I had it made especially for you, I'm rubbish at knitting or I would have made it. It's all four house colors because you've managed to unite the school. You really have Harry, nobody befriended outside of their house before you came. Now look at us. Three Slytherins, a Gryffindor, and even a Muggle-Born in the same room, getting along. I'm not trying to speak treasonously, I'm really not, but you've broken down the barrier. You've shown that the world is bigger than house rivalries or even the caste system. And your Guardian hasn't tried to stop you, so I think this is what he wants. He wants you to show that unity isn't impossible."

The room was silent.

"I'm sorry, it's stupid—" Hermione stuttered.

"No it isn't." Daphne interrupted.

Hermione smiled thankfully.

_Maybe there is hope_, Harry thought to himself.

_Maybe I can be that hope._

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><p><strong>Hey, so there's chapter 29! This was originally going to have a whole other, separate scene, but it seemed the right time to end this chapter here. Since I want to write the other scene still, chapter 30 might be out by tonight [reviews fuel me to write, just saying ;) ] <strong>

**Neville's gift will come in handy later.**

**I made up Mandybats; you'll know what they are the next time Luna pops up.**

**Hermione's present is a catalyst for Harry. Just wait.**

**Anyway tell me what ya think!**

**-Ginny**


	30. Chapter 30: Flashbacks are a B

**So this chapter will probably be a bit short, as it was originally going to be a scene from another chapter. **

**WARNING: TRIGGER WARNING! There are upsetting things in this chapter, so I just wanted you guys to be aware.**

**There is a time jump. This is the day before Harry is set to go home.**

**I also had an awesome reviewer point out some things to me. I haven't been really clear about the relationship between Harry and Voldemort, I almost feel like I've led you guys astray, so please read the review and my reply below. I know it's long, but it's important!**

**Bloody Phantom chapter 15 . 14h ago**

**This story was really, really, REALLY good...until this point, I'm sorry to say. I was so excited when I read your little note on one of the chapters about not having Harry find out and be okay with Voldemort as his dad and magically become evil overnight...I was excited because I agree with you on that..those stories are unrealistic and boring, to be frank. You were doing such a good job at keeping Harry from getting too attached to and trusting Voldemort right away...but, this chapter just seemed to ruin it for me. Let's add up the facts from Harry's point of view...Voldemort had just shown him Azkaban, hit him in the face, almost had Hermione expelled, threaten Harry not to ever speak to her again just because she's a muggleborn...just seeing the injustice to the muggleborns at Hogwarts would have had Harry hating his father all the more...and Harry admits that Voldemorts own guys killed the only parents he ever knew, not to mention Voldemort threating Sirius' life, blackmailing Harry to stay with him in the beginning...then, all of a sudden, you have this touching scene at the end of this chapter? It is touching to be sure...just too soon and too fast. Voldemort mentioned Harry having Stockholm Syndrome being at the Rebels, but I seem to be seeing it more with Voldemort...**

**My reply: First of all, I want to say thank you for bringing an honest opinion and critique, and not just complaining. I'm still a high school student, with no formal education in creative writing. It's been an (unfortunate) habit of mine to speed in to things a bit in my writing. That being said, Harry's reactions are only partly accidental, as far as emotional pacing goes. **

**While Harry tells himself that he won't let himself become attached, the fact of the matter is that he is bound to, at least to some extent. He's alone, without a true support system (besides Voldemort), in an unfamiliar place. He feels threatened, and he doesn't really know what to think of Voldemort. He is also emotionally unstable. You brought up my mention of Stockholm Syndrome, and I intentionally wrote Harry to exhibit signs of it towards Voldemort. And Voldemort, despite attempts not too, acts the way a captor would. He alternates between cruelty and kindness (though not completely consciously) and though it isn't his intention to hurt Harry, he will use Harry's unstable state to his advantage. That's a bit cruel, I know, but it's in character for Tom Riddle. He uses any advantages he can, he uses people, and he doesn't feel any remorse about it. In this case it may even be completely unconsciously, and Voldemort's POV can even go against what I'm saying, because his POVs are what he tells himself. Their relationship isn't healthy, and it will never be healthy. **

**I also want to assure you that despite all of that, Harry WILL NOT become a mindless drone that does anything his father asks of him. Harry's fundamental ideas are too different from Voldemort to be completely swayed, and at most he'd be a devil's advocate, playing for both sides when he agreed or disagreed with a policy. Harry won't go dark, though he will learn dark magic, and do some things later in the story (out of desperation) that may constitute as dark. He is fundamentally light, and his actions later in the story WILL reflect that as well.**

**So it's completely your choice in whether you decide to continue reading this fic, but i just wanted to explain that Harry's irrational behavior towards Voldemort is just that, irrational. It isn't all rainbows and love-fests. The relationship will always have an undercurrent of the captor/captive mentality to it because at base, that is what they are. Harry will love Voldemort, and trust him, but there will always be that underlying fear and eventually unhealthy devotion towards him. I really do hope you continue to read, because I love having a reviewer who brings real critiques for the story. I honestly thank you, because i'm on the site to improve my writing and see what others think. I'll try to be a bit more careful about the pacing (though I'm on chapter 30 now).**

**So yeah, thanks to Bloody Phantom! I also want to say that none of the things above changes the fact that they love each other, but I HAVE said their relationship is unhealthy. It's just unhealthier than they realize. That being said the darker undercurrents aren't the main point of their relationship, but they do play a role.**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Chapter 30: Flashbacks are a B****<p>

His first mistake, Harry reflected, was wanting to take a shower. His second mistake was acting on it.

There was nothing physically wrong with him, and his magic seemed to be fine, so he figured he'd be fine to take care of the need to get clean by himself. Plus calling for help to take a shower was embarrassing.

His father had been by several times to check in on him, never able to stay long, but it was still nice to know he was being checked on.

Harry wished he's stay at night. He was a minor, and no one would have batted an eye at his father staying with him as he had the first night. But Harry quickly took notice of the tired air around his dad, there was no physical sign of his exhaustion, of course, but somehow Harry could tell. So even when the lights in his room were turned off and the anxiety began to eat at him, he told his dad to go home and sleep, that he was fine. The weak smile didn't fool Voldemort, but he let his son be, not knowing what else to do.

Right now it was the middle of the day, so he would be fine.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood up on slightly shaky legs, hobbling over to the en suite bathroom. Shutting the door softly behind himself, he avoided his reflection in the mirror. He knew he looked terrible, pale and tired. He didn't need the mirror to _literally_ tell him he looked like rubbish. Whose brilliant idea was it to put talking mirrors in a hospital toilet anyway?

Harry turned the tap and pulled the knob on top up, it never failed to amuse him how wizards scorned anything muggle made . . . except plumbing.

He stripped and hopped behind the opaque curtain, again avoiding the mirror.

The blasted thing was too small; it could barely even be considered a shower. It was more along the lines of a stall. He should have been used to it, the showers at the rebel camp were even smaller, Harry supposed he'd become quite spoiled in his time with Voldemort.

He went about washing his hair quickly. The small space was getting to him. His hands were shaking, and soon his whole body followed. The water was hot, but he felt freezing. He turned the tap more. The water burned, he was still cold. He found it hard to breathe, and the shaking worsened. The tap wouldn't turn anymore.

Harry slid down the wall in the small cubicle, wrapping his arms around his knees. It never occurred to Harry to get out.

He looked down to his hands, bright red from the scorching water. His wrists were bound by rope, it was tight, it cut into his skin. It hurt.

A strangle noise escaped his throat and he brought his wrists to rest against his chest. He didn't notice that the ropes were no longer binding him, that he could move them. He didn't try too.

Voldemort walked down the long corridor of the pediatric ward, mediwitches barely even reacting to his presence any longer, he was such a constant now. The door to his son's room was shut, he liked his privacy and he'd been making good progress. He would be coming home tomorrow. And then he could give Harry the Christmas he deserved, albeit a few days late. He knew Harry would love his present.

He opened the door and stepped through. The bed was rumpled and empty. The toilet door was closed, the shower running. He decided to wait. There was no pressing business to take care of.

Half an hour passed and Voldemort began to worry. Maybe Harry had just gotten in when he'd arrived. He'd wait. Forty-five minutes. What was he _doing_ in there?

An hour had passed when Voldemort knocked on the door.

"Harry?"

No answer.

"Harry, answer or I'm coming in."

Silence.

The door was locked. He unlocked it.

The room was uncomfortably hot and steamy. The mirror was completely fogged over. The towels were probably damp.

"Harry?"

He could see his silhouette behind the curtain, slumped on the floor of the shower stall.

He ripped the curtain aside and there lay Harry, shivering with his arms wrapped around himself, knees drawn up to his chest, his hands trapped between his knees and his chest. His eyes were half-mast and he didn't seem to feel the water beating down on him, burning his skin.

"Oh, God Harry."

He paid the scalding water no mind beyond a hiss of pain as he pulled Harry from the water. Harry whimpered as his burnt body was manhandled, but he didn't attempt to struggle.

"Harry, Harry can you hear me?"

Harry gave a noncommittal whimper in reply.

He cast a _Sonorous_ and called for help. Harry was trembling, his entire body wracked with spasms, and now that they were out of the water, Voldemort could see that Harry was crying.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to cause his son more pain.

Medics and Healers spilled into the room, noticing the steam. The dark Lord sat against the bathroom door, cradling a very obviously injured boy in his arms.

The medics attempted to gently disentangle Harry with the help of a levitation charm, but stopped when Harry's sobs became audible, a clear sign of distress.

A Healer came forward.

"My Lord, do you think you can get him to drink this? It's imperative that we calm him down, in this state he might cause further harm to himself."

Voldemort took the vial; it took only a glance for him to identify it as Dreamless Sleep. He nodded.

"Harry," he murmured, gently brushing the wet fringe from his face. On some level at least, Harry knew who was holding him, or he wouldn't have been upset at being separated.

He uncorked the vial in a small show of wandless magic and pressed the edge of it gently to Harry's lips.

"Drink this, son. It'll help."

Harry's mouth opened obediently and Voldemort silently thanked heaven above that his son trusted him.

"Good boy," he whispered as Harry swallowed the potion.

He was out almost instantly, his head drooping to rest against his father's chest.

"It'll be alright now, son. Sleep."

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><p><strong>So chapter 30. Yeah . . . <strong>

**Angsty enough for ya? So yeah, tell me what you think!**


	31. Announcement

**Hey guys, I'm really sorry this isn't an update. I've got to be honest with you, I'm having a really hard time writing this fic. I love it, and I will eventually finish it, but right now I'm just not motivated with it and I'd like to write something else. I am, however, still very much motivated to write for the Harry Potter fandom and the Harry/Voldemort tag. That's why I've decided to start this new story. It popped into my head a while ago, and I've really fallen in love with it. It's completely different from A Twist in Destiny, though it does still center on the same two characters, Harry and Voldemort. I'm going to completely write the plot first, so I actually know where I'm going with it. And try my best to update at least every other week. So here's the synopsis, you guys get the full thing because I love my followers.**

_**The Kingdom of Gryffindor has fallen, and the new regime, the Rule of the Dark King has begun. Nothing remains of the Kingdom of Gryffindor, nothing except a single boy, locked away in what has been ironically dubbed Gryffindor Tower. But even he belongs to the King of Slytherin. Harry/Voldemort. Slash! Inexplicit Non-con/Dub-con. Medieval AU. Loosely inspired by Snow White (and another fic I can't remember the name of and can't find)**_

"_**Do you love him?" she asks him, half curiosity and half dread.**_

"_**I don't know."**_

"_**You don't know?"**_

"_**I'm not certain if I love him, or if the ability to love is just another thing he's taken from me."**_

**So yeah, there it is. Please feel free to give the first chapter a read. It's already up. So go, read, and tell me what you think! It's completely different from anything I've written before. But I'm telling you now, if you're looking for smut, there won't be much of it after the first like ten chapters, and I won't be writing full on lemons because I'm not comfortable in my ability to do story will be centered on the plot and the characters, not smut.**


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